


Overcoming Adversities

by MycroftexMachina



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017-2018 NHL Season, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 18:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13082496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MycroftexMachina/pseuds/MycroftexMachina
Summary: There is something to be said about falling in love with your best friend.





	Overcoming Adversities

The glass of the living room window is cold on his forehead, but Mitch doesn't mind, as it helps him focus. It’s sort of chilly in the apartment; still, Mitch has his favorite Leaf blanket wrapped around him, he’s wearing the sweatpants his mom got him for Christmas—London Knight style—and a toque for good measure. He doesn't really need to get up to turn on the thermostat.

 

It’s quiet around him, in that eerie way that only happens at 2 o’clock in the morning, even in a city as vibrant as Toronto. The view from the apartment is not as breathtaking as some he’d seen when he was searching for a place to live, but Mitch likes it nevertheless. It calms him—it calmed him when he first visited, back in July, and it’s what sold him the apartment to begin with. There can be so much noise in Mitch’s head; he needs to be able to find peace as often and in as many places as possible.

 

It’s not been easy, these past few months.

 

Or rather, August was fine; but September was challenging, October was brutal and November wasn't much better—for a variety of reasons.

 

The jury is still out on December—Mitch has not had the time to process all of ups and downs of the month. He just hopes that January is going to be kinder to him. To all of them.

 

Mitch sighs heavily, and it’s cold enough that his breath fogs the window. Like he used to do when he was a kid, Mitch raises his index finger and draws his initials, because it’s fun and harmless, an action that has no real consequences. Of late, Mitch feels as if too many of his actions seem to have too far-reaching consequences, so he likes the idea of doing something pointless in order to take some solace in the nothingness of it.

 

Mitch doesn't quite know if he has the right to feel as he does. He’s living his childhood dream, after all, and life has been treating him kindly. He’s being paid an exorbitant amount of money to play the game he loves, and he does so in the city in which he was born and grew up, with people he genuinely likes. His family is close by, his friends even closer—and those who are a continent away can be easily reached.

 

And yet. And yet, things haven’t been easy.

 

Last year was a tremendous boast to Mitch’s ego. He exceeded expectations, even his own, by breaking rookie records and keeping up with people much more experienced than he is. It helped a lot, doing so well. It helped even more doing so well together with a group of other rookies.

 

Sure, each of them had different issues: Mitch had to convince Babs that his size wasn't going to be a problem; Willy, Connor and Brownie had to convince Babs that what they’d done the previous spring wasn't a fluke, and that they deserved a spot on the regular roster; Zach had to impress, despite being already quite impressive—Zach, in Mitch’s opinion, is one of the best examples there is in support of the idea that the number one is drafted at doesn't matter. Brownie is another, not that anyone’s asking Mitch.

 

And Matty. Well, Matty had his own problems, what with the whole ‘anointed-savior-of-a-failing-franchise’ business that followed him wherever he went. It’s quite likely that Matty got the short end of the stick, in this ‘Leaf rookie contingent stuff’ they all had to deal with.

 

Still, all of them had excelled, and so had the veterans, and people in Toronto had celebrated the Leafs’ accomplishments, even in the face of defeat.

 

This year is different, at least as far as Mitch is concerned.

 

Mitch is selfish enough to be more worried about himself than, say, Willy, who is actually doing just fine. One thing is clear to Mitch: he doesn't think he’s performing at his full potential, and he wonders whether the rest of the guys and the coaching staff haven’t started to agree with his assessment.

 

They don't talk about it, because one doesn't talk about these things. Coach talks about it, and the trainers and the team psychologists talk about it, when necessary. And the press talks about it until everyone and their mother are blue in the face. But among themselves, the young players don't touch the topic at all. They keep it light in the locker room, they have fun, they joke around, but they don't talk about it.

 

It’s getting to Mitch, this inability to address his struggles with the people with whom he went to war last year.

 

And sure, it helps that the team is doing well, and that Naz and JVR are electric on ice and that Freddie and Mac have been walls between the pipes at least since late October.

 

But the inner critic that’s lived in Mitch’s head since he was five and old enough to internalize other people’s negative comments and never let go of them hasn't shut up since pre-season. Quite honestly, Mitch is exhausted.

 

On top of that, Coach isn’t particularly reassuring. Or rather, he is, in his own brusque way—“Work hard, the results will come,” he’d said to Mitch—and to Willy, Connor, Sosh, even Matty, for fuck’s sake. Like any of them is slacking out.

 

It also doesn't help that Coach doesn't believe in luck, which, really, a lot of the narrative around hockey is about how, often, it’s not the best team that wins the cup, but the luckiest. Sometimes, Mitch would like to tell Babs that, but he refrains. His survival instincts are very much in place, thankfully.

 

Another deep sigh fogs the glass again, but this time Mitch doesn't draw anything. He should really go to sleep—they have a game tonight, against the Canucks. But he cannot turn off his brain. Hasn't been able to for a while.

 

Usually, Mitch is pretty good at leaving his job at the rink—he learned earlier on that it was the only way to survive such a competitive sport without getting completely obliterated by it. Also, to be honest, he’s twenty: there is something to be said about limited attention span and the vagaries of youth, so to speak.

 

Mitch also has a sunny disposition and he is, for the most part, a truly happy person. So much so, apparently, that at the end of last season, Mitch had overheard Marty arguing—convincingly, according to Willy, who as far as Mitch is concerned is a moron when it comes to evaluating arguments—that Mitch is part puppy.

 

Mitch is not part puppy, but he appreciated the implicit compliment nonetheless.

 

Being a relatively well-adjusted and happy person has not helped Mitch of late, however. It hasn't helped him scoring goals, it hasn't helped him winning face-offs, it hasn't helped him playing well defensively and it hasn't helped him staying on the top line, with Auston.

 

Right. Because that’s a thing that happened—playing with Auston.

 

Honestly, Mitch doesn't know whether that was a blessing or a curse. It was certainly exhilarating, for all of the ten minutes it lasted. But Mitch wonders if he wouldn't be better off without the knowledge of what it means to be on Auston’s line. To score on Auston’s line. To celly with Auston because of what they can do, together.

 

Auston’s been another major source of concern for Mitch, this season.

 

It’s hard to see your teammates sidelined by injuries, and Matty’s been injured already twice. And it’s fucking January. Nothing serious—indeed, the trainers have been very clear about the fact that, if it were the playoffs, Matty could have played. But first there was the stupid shoulder—Mitch can write a book on shoulder injuries, what with his own and Davo’s to discuss in much detail—then there was the stupid flu, because of course Matty had to catch the flu too, and then there was the even stupider neck injury, because sometimes things just don't go your way.

 

Mitch has been going out of his mind with worry about his own game up to the moment he’d started to go out of his mind with worry about Matty’s health.

 

Marty can talk all he wants about injuries being part of the game, and about how Mitch was ill last season as well, but Marty doesn't know shit. Not that Mitch can blame him, really, since he hasn't told him anything about it, but still. Marty doesn't understand, because Sydney is at home, safe from body checks and boarding, from dirty plays and tripping.

 

Matty is not, and there is nothing Mitch can do about it.

 

It’s a terrifying proposition, and it brings home to Mitch the fact that, as much as he can make plays and attempt, as best as he can, to control the game, he can do nothing to protect the people he cares about from the variables hockey throws at them.

 

Mitch had gotten a taste of this when Davo was injured during his rookie season, or when Stromer was sent back over and over again, first to the O and then to Tucson.

 

Matty is different, however.

 

First of all, Matty’s right there, in front of Mitch, and Mitch had a front row seat, day in and day out, to the challenges Matty faced in November and December. It’s harder when things stare you in the face. Distance helps, even if it doesn't soften the worry or the pain one feels for one’s friends. Proximity makes everything louder, stronger, more unbearable.

 

Second, Mitch is not at his best. Normally, he would be the first to try to cheer Matty up, forcing him to play CoD or the stupid card games he’s seemingly so enamored with of late. But Mitch is at the end of his rope—not a fact that he advertises, but he’s there nonetheless. So it’s hard for him to do his usual cheerful and upbeat routine when he feels so crappy all the time. Pretending is hard, Mitch is finding out—and he’s been pretending things are okay for a while, now.

 

Third, it’s Matty.

 

Mitch will be the first to acknowledge that his relationship with Davo and Dylan is weird. People who played together in juniors rarely remain friends, and Mitch never played with the two of them, except with Dylan in international tournaments. Despite this, he’s very close to both of them, something that seems to surprise a lot of people.

 

Davo is Davo: awkward, determined, focused and a difficult nut to crack. But Mitch is relentless when he wants to make friends, and he wanted to become Davo’s friend, so he didn't leave him much of a choice. Stromer is Mitch’s best friend ever—no questions asked. Or rather, he was, until Mitch met Auston. Stromer is Mitch’s brother from another mother, his twin separated at birth. Stromer gets Mitch on a level nobody else ever did, and Mitch loves him so much—in a totally bro way, or whatever, but he loves him, and Davo, quite a lot.

 

Matty is Matty.

 

Mitch didn't know quite what to do with him when they met at training camp after the World Cup—sure, they’d met at World Juniors, but the Canadians had tended to steer away from the Americans, what with the whole rivalry thing, and Mitch hadn’t been interested enough to make the effort to meet who _could_ be a potential teammate, if the hockey gods cooperated.

 

Matty had been super professional and super serious at camp—for all of five minutes. The whole ‘breaking a pane with a one timer’ had changed that very quickly. Mitch still chuckles when he thinks about it. It had humanized Matty, that incident. It had made him someone Mitch could be friends with, someone he could rely on, someone around whom he could be himself without running the risk of being criticized or judged—Mitch gets enough of that from his dad and the media, he doesn't want to get it from his teammates and friends.

 

So Matty is Matty, and seeing him hurt not once, not twice, but three times in the span of a month hadn’t been something Mitch had handled with ease.

 

There is something to be said about falling in love with your best friend, Mitch reasons.

 

There is something to be said about falling in love with a hockey player, as well.

 

Maybe Mitch should talk to Sydney, or any of the other wives and girlfriends, instead of discussing things with Marty.

 

The clock on the windowsill reads 2:38, a stark reminder Mitch should get the fuck to sleep. The Canucks aren’t having a stellar season, but they’re not sucking either, so he really should try to get some rest before morning practice and the game.

 

It’s hard, however, thinking about going back to his cold bed, where he is destined to toss and turn while trying not to think about the hopelessness that hits him at the most unexpected times—about hockey, about his role on the team, about his size, about his game, about Matty.

 

The inner critic does its best work, on these occasions, which is one of the reasons why Mitch feels like the circles under his eyes have increased exponentially in the past month. Even Davo has started making raccoon jokes, and he reserves those for Dyls.

 

Whatever. Sleep is for losers, or something like that. Mitch can sleep when he’s dead—or this afternoon. His afternoon naps continue to occur on a regular basis, which is something to be grateful for, all things considered.

 

***

 

The game against the Canucks is fine. JVR scores twice, and Mitch gets a couple of assists—those don't seem to be a problem for him. Matty scores once, on a splendid pass from Willy, and their celly makes Mitch’s heart hurt, because he wants that, so desperately, and he knows he doesn't get to have it.

 

A win is a win, so the team is in a good mood, and so is Babs—apparently there weren’t major fuck-ups granting some long-winded lecture, though Mitch is sure they’re going to get an in-depth video-review about turnovers. Again.

 

Mo wants to go out and celebrate and most of the team decides to tag along.

 

“You coming?” Marty asks Mitch, who is still getting dressed after having spoken with the press.

 

“Not tonight,” Mitch says. He’s tired, so he might be able to sleep through the night. He also played well, which means that the inner critic is going to be quiet tonight, a plus when Mitch wishes to get some rest.

 

“You sure?” Marty prods. “I think Naz and Leo said something about paying for shots.”

 

Mitch shakes his head. He’s honestly not a fan of alcohol—which makes him an oddity on the team—and everyone knows that. He’ll get drunk every so often, but he doesn't chase it like some other guys do. Never has.

 

“I’m tired,” Mitch admits. “I think I am going to go home and crash,” he adds with a smile.

 

Marty ruffles his hair, because he’s never not going to behave like an obnoxious older brother, and leaves Mitch to his devices.

 

Mitch finishes getting ready as the guys trickle out of the dressing room, tossing suggestions about bars and pubs left and right, with Mo screaming it was his idea and he gets to choose for everybody. Leo’s answer doesn't bear repeating in polite company.

 

Mitch cannot contain a smile at Mo’s antics. He’s such a great guy, and such a compassionate leader. Mitch understands that management is waiting for Auston to be ready to become captain, but he wishes they wouldn't. It seems such an unnecessary burden to put on Auston’s shoulders on top of everything else that’s expected of him. And Mo would do such a great job. Is doing such a great job.

 

“There it is,” a voice says behind Mitch. He turns quickly to see Matty leaning against the door.

 

“There is what?” Mitch asks, his cheeks coloring slightly. He hadn’t realized Auston hadn’t left with the others.

 

“Your smile,” Auston says softly. “It’s been hard to come by, of late.”

 

Mitch’s eyes widen in surprise. It’s not a typical Auston-comment.

 

“Right,” he says, because, really, what else is there to say?

 

“Is everything okay?” Auston asks, possibly realizing that Mitch’s reaction is less than lackluster.

 

Mitch sighs, finally getting up and gathering his things.

 

“I am just tired,” he says again, walking towards Auston and the exit.

 

“Yeah,” Auston replies, falling into step with Mitch as they make their way out of the ACC. “Marty told me.”

 

“He sent you to check up on me?” Mitch asks with a frown. He wouldn't put it past Marty to be sneaky that way. The guy worries about all the young players as much as Mo and Gards do.

 

“No, actually,” Auston says, passing a hand through his hair. “He said you’d be fine.”

 

“Mmm,” Mitch sort of agrees. He _is_ going to be fine. It might take a while, and he’s got some things to work through, but there is no reason for things not to turn around at some point. They always do.

 

They walk in silence for a bit, simply nodding or calling out their goodnight to the janitorial staff who’s left to clean up after the team and the fans.

 

“Have you been sleeping?” Auston asks at some point, looking at Mitch intently.

 

Mitch almost trips on his step, but recovers quickly.

 

“What do you mean?” he says, because Auston is full of prodding questions tonight of all nights, and Mitch is not really prepared to answer them.

 

“Have you been sleeping, Mitchy?” Auston repeats stubbornly.

 

By now, they’ve reached the players’ lot. Theirs are the only two cars left—sometimes Auston drives himself, now that he’s more familiar with Toronto than he was last year. Mitch doesn't like it one bit, because those car rides are the highlights of his day, especially when things are really shitty. However, he cannot tell Auston he’d rather they always drove in together. Not only is it impractical. He and Auston also have different interests and different friends, and they often are not going in the same direction after practice or after a game. Doesn't mean Mitch has to like it.

 

“Why do you ask?” Mitch tries to deflect. It’s an odd question, after all. As much as Auston cares—about Mitch, and about all their teammates—he’s not prone to fretting.

 

“Answer the question, Mitch,” Auston replies.

 

“Sort of,” Mitch sighs, as they reach his car.

 

“What do you mean, sort of?” Auston asks, forehead furrowed and eyes laser-focused on Mitch.

 

“I sleep as well as you do, I guess,” Mitch jokes, referring to Auston’s well-known inability to sleep for more than six hours. It’s something Mitch discovered last year, but he’s experienced it first hand this year, since they’ve become road roomies.

 

That has complicated things tremendously, becoming road roomies. It’s not like Mitch was ever going to say no, when Auston asked him at the beginning of the season. He just didn't know how much more difficult things would be, being with Auston like that. Sharing a space with someone you love, a space as small as a hotel room can be, makes a lot of experiences more intimate.

 

“Mitchy,” Auston says, putting a hand on Mitch’s shoulder, and therefore forcing Mitch to look at him. It’s fucking cold, and granted, Mitch is used to Toronto winters, but it doesn't mean that he wants to spend more time than necessary in sub-artic temperatures.

 

“Matty,” Mitch says with a wan smile.

 

“What’s wrong, Mitch?” Auston asks. He looks genuinely worried, and Mitch is so tired. Seeing Auston’s concern doesn't really help.

 

“Not tonight, Matty,” he says quietly. “Can we not do it tonight?”

 

Auston looks at him, his eyes serious and worried, and Mitch cannot bear it. Not after last night’s introspection. Not after tonight’s game.

 

“Mitch, please,” Auston says.

 

“Matty,” Mitch repeats, his eyes filling with tears despite his best efforts. “I really can’t,” he whispers.

 

Auston stares at Mitch’s tears horrified, most likely with himself, if Mitch is reading him right, and Mitch doesn't want that. He doesn't want Auston to think that _this_ is somewhat his fault.

 

“I am sorry,” he hiccups, while trying to dry his cheeks with the sleeve of his coat.

 

“Jesus, Mitchy,” Auston says, passing his arms around Mitch’s shoulders and bringing him closer to his chest. “Don't apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

 

Auston’s sympathetic tone is the last straw, and Mitch starts sobbing uncontrollably, his face hidden in Auston’s neck, while they’re both freezing their asses off in a fucking parking lot.

 

Auston rubs his gloved hands on Mitch’s back, making shushing sounds and trying, as best as he can, to help Mitch ride this storm of feelings that hit him.

 

There is something to be said about being in love with your best friend, Mitch thinks as the storm abides. They know how to take care of you, and how to hug you, and support you. And even if they don't love you back, they love you, and that’s a lot.

 

Mitch doesn't know for how long he stands in Auston’s arms, crying his heart out about the adversities of the season and about the bruises on his heart. He knows, however, that Auston is right there, solid, strong and supportive, his head on Mitch’s, his arms protecting Mitch from the cold.

 

“Ineedatissue,” Mitch mumbles in Auston’s shoulder after a bit.

 

“What was that?” Auston asks, his voice soft and low.

 

“I don't want to leave snot all over your coat,” Mitch attempts to joke. “I need a tissue.”

 

Auston looks like a deer caught in the headlights for a second, like the idea of tissues is beyond his comprehension.

 

“I have napkins in my car,” he says finally, realizing what Mitch is talking about.

 

“So do I,” Mitch smiles. “And my car is right here,” he adds, gesturing to his truck, which is the closest of their two vehicles.

 

“Give me the keys,” Auston orders. Mitch obliges, because he knows he’s not getting away from Auston until Auston’s certain things are okay. Not after the whole crying-his-eyes-out episode Mitch just subjected him to.

 

Auston is back in a second with a bunch of napkins, which Mitch uses to dry his face and blow his nose. Then he inspects Auston’s coat to make sure he hasn’t messed that up.

 

“It’s fine,” Auston says, following Mitch’s gaze. “It’ll dry.”

 

“I’ll pay for the dry cleaning,” Mitch says.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Auston responds. “Now get in the truck. I am driving you home.”

 

“What?” Mitch looks at Auston surprised. “No, what the fuck. I can drive.”

 

“You’re dead on your feet. You are in no condition to drive. I will take you home. You can drive me back here tomorrow so I can get my car.”

 

“Matty,” Mitch whines, because now that he’s gotten the tears out of his system, he feels better, even if he’s still exhausted and overwhelmed.

 

“No,” Auston says adamant. “Get in the car. I am texting my dad that I am spending the night at yours and that’s the end of the discussion.”

 

“Matty,” Mitch tries again.

 

“Unless you want me to call your mom?” Auston suggests raising his eyebrows, the fucking bastard.

 

Mitch gasps. “You wouldn't dare,” he says.

 

“Try me,” Auston replies serious.

 

Mitch wisely decides not to and he gets into the passenger seat without any further argument.

 

Auston takes a minute to contact his dad and to adjust the driver’s seat, and then they’re on their way to Mitch’s condo.

 

The radio is off—Mitch hadn’t turned it on on the drive in—and Auston makes no effort to fill the silence in the cabin. It’s not oppressive, nothing like that, but it is odd. Mitch is aware he’s the one who’s making things weird—after all, he’s usually the one who fills all the silences with endless chatter while Auston nods and hums, and offers his opinion whenever Mitch allows it.

 

The ride is not particularly long at this time of the night, and they make it to Mitch’s apartment around eleven thirty.

 

Once the door is locked, Mitch turns towards Auston.

 

“Let me get you something to change in,” he says, while Auston removes his coat, jacket and shoes.

 

“Thanks,” Auston smiles, and Mitch goes to his room and digs up some Leaf gear that’s too big for him—he often gets stuff that doesn't fit him.

 

In short order, him and Auston are sitting across each other on the couch. Auston found some cocoa in a cupboard and made them both a cup of hot chocolate. Domestic Auston is quite impressive, Mitch has to admit. Because he needed yet another reason to fall even more in love with him.

 

“Talk to me, Mitchy,” Auston says, his socked feet tucked under the pillow Mitch is leaning against. His voice is gentle, like he’s trying not to spook a testy animal—which, really, Mitch doesn't want to carry that metaphor to its natural conclusion.

 

“It’s just been a long season, Matty,” Mitch says.

 

“How so?” Auston asks.

 

“It just has,” Mitch mumbles.

 

“Mitch,” Auston says. “I cannot help if you’re not more specific.”

 

“I thought we had decided we are not discussing this,” Mitch comments, a bit harsh, referring to the atmosphere in the locker room.

 

“Is this about the line changes?” Auston asks surprised.

 

“Among other things,” Mitch admits. The line changes, and the constant shuffling caused by the various injuries that have plagued the Leafs in recent weeks, haven’t helped.

 

“You have been playing well, Mitch,” Auston tells him reassuringly.

 

“I can’t score to save my life,” Mitch replies.

 

“You’re not the only one,” Auston reminds him. “But you’ve got more assists than anyone on the team. You are making great plays.”

 

“It doesn't feel like that’s enough,” Mitch confesses.

 

“What do you mean?” Auston asks, looking genuinely puzzled.

 

“You know how Coach is, Matty,” Mitch sighs. “He wants to see concrete results. He wants us to win games and he wants us to put up points. Playing well without producing is not going to cut it, not in the long run.”

 

“Are you actually worried he’s going to send you down?” Auston asks astonished.

 

“Don’t look so surprised,” Mitch says harshly. “Ask Kappy and see what he thinks. Hell, ask Sosh.”

 

“Babs is not going to send you to the Marlies, Marns,” Auston says firmly. “You are producing more than adequately. Sure, it took you a bit to get going, but you’ve been doing fine.”

 

“Doesn't feel that way,” Mitch comments.

 

“Mitch,” Auston begins.

 

“You weren’t on the fourth line, okay?” Mitch interrupts him. “You weren’t on the fourth line while everyone was discussing how I was a perfect example of a sophomore slump. Nor were you benched for an entire period for no apparent reason,” Mitch adds, referring to Coach’s treatment of Willy during their December game against the Penguins.

 

Auston grimaces, clearly recalling the game well, since that’s also when he got injured the second time.

 

“Right,” Mitch says, when Auston’s response is silence. “So don't tell me Babs is not going to send me anywhere. His job is to win games so we can make the playoffs and win the cup. He’s gonna do whatever it takes to achieve that goal, as he should. It doesn't mean I am not expendable, or Willy is, or anyone else on this team is.”

 

Except Auston, of course. The Leafs are not going to give Auston up, exactly like the Oilers aren’t going to trade Davo and the Penguins aren’t sending Crosby to Ottawa. The perks of being a generational talent. Mitch doesn't envy any of them, however. It’s so not worth it.

 

“It’s hockey, Marns,” Auston points out, as if Mitch needs the reminder.

 

“I know,” Mitch says. “It doesn't make things easier, however. At least when things don't go your way.”

 

“Why didn't you tell us this was weighting on your mind so much?” Auston asks, looking saddened by Mitch’s struggles.

 

“Because nobody is talking about it. It’s like people are doing their leveled best not to open Pandora’s Box. It looked like this was something we should not discuss openly,” Mitch points out bitterly. “And at any rate, what was I going to say? Hockey is hockey, as you just reminded me. Individuality is supposed to be set aside for the good of the team. I cannot make this about me, even when it is about me.”

 

“It is about each of us, individually and as a group.”

 

“Yes, Auston,” Mitch sighs. “But sometimes, when things don't go your way for a while and you only hear the critiques and not the compliments, you tend to focus on yourself and your game. And if you don't have anyone to discuss this with, then it gets more difficult to work through this shit.”

 

“What about your dad?” Auston asks.

 

Mitch rolls his eyes, because Auston should know better. It’s one of Auston’s blind spots, his relationship with his father. It makes him believe that everyone on the team has a fabulous relationship with their parents.

 

To be fair, Mitch gets along with both his parents very well. But he’s never going to go to his father with something like this. It’s not how things are done with the Marners. And Auston knows this.

 

“Okay, then,” Auston says. “What about your other friends? Like, have you talked to Davo about this? Or Stromer? You’re close to Stromer, right? You keep extolling his virtues left and right.”

 

“Extolling his virtues?” Mitch asks, snorts, really, because sure, he’s Dylan’s staunchest defender, but he doesn't really spend a lot of time writing sonnets about him, which is what Auston is making it sound like.

 

“You know what I mean,” Auston mumbles, flushing slightly.

 

“Stromer knows,” Mitch admits. “Davo’s got bigger fish to fry, what with having to justify his 10.5 million dollars contract before the hockey gods and all their worshippers.”

 

“Davo’s playing just fine,” Auston comments.

 

“Davo’s playing like a demon,” Mitch corrects him. “What was it that Steve Dangle called him? A Tasmanian Devil?”

 

“Not the greatest of comparison,” Auston says. “I looked it up. It went extinct, like, a century ago.”

 

“Oh god,” Mitch laughs. “I hope nobody told Davo.”

 

“I mean,” Auston says, trying to contain his mirth, “one could argue that he’s so rare it only appears once in a blue moon.”

 

“That’s what Davo needs: to be reminded once again of his own exceptional status,” Mitch says, shaking his head. “Anyways,” Mitch continues, “I talked to Dylan about it, and a bit to Dvo as well. It’s not like either of them doesn't get it.”

 

“You could have come to me, too, Mitchy,” Auston comments.

 

“As I said: there seems to have been some tacit pact not to discuss this type of issues in the locker room,” Mitch reminds him.

 

“If there was, I am not aware of it,” Auston says. “And if you think Willy doesn't talk about these problems you are mistaken. Zach has been Willy’s designated confessor for months, now.”

 

“And how am I supposed to know that, Matty?” Mitch asks, mildly irritated, his nose scrunched up.

 

“You are supposed to talk to your friends about your problems, so that your friends can help you figure shit out,” Auston replies all prim and proper, like he’s the poster child of discussing fucking feelings.

 

Mitch huffs, because fuck it, Auston might have a point. And probably Mitch would have gone to his teammates to talk about what was bothering him, if that was his only problem. There is also the whole Auston thing, which doesn't really help, and which Mitch cannot discuss with anyone—not even Stromer knows, and Stromer knows everything.

 

“Marns,” Auston pokes Mitch’s side with his foot.

 

“Okay,” Mitch acknowledges. “I will talk to Hymie about this in the future,” he says with a mischievous light in his eyes. Just because he’s in love with Auston doesn't mean he’s not going to give him shit.

 

“You’re such an asshole,” Auston says, sort of resigned. “I am sure Zach is going to be delighted to be the designated team psychologist, however.”

 

Mitch snorts, and then, because he prides himself with being a good friend, turns the tables on Auston.

 

“How are you?” he asks.

 

“Me?” Auston replies surprised. “I am fine. Why?”

 

“No lingering effect from the last hit?” Mitch prods.

 

Auston is very good at letting the trainers know if something is wrong. He is, however, very much aware of how much his presence or absence affects the team, and the team’s morale.

 

“I am completely recovered,” Auston assures him. “Wait a minute,” he adds, suddenly suspicious. “Has this been bothering you, also? My health?”

 

“It’s not like you’ve been very forthcoming about it,” Mitch gripes.

 

Auston doesn't complain as a matter of course, and he doesn't talk about his ailments unless directly asked. Mitch makes a point not to ask, because it bothered him a lot, when he was out last year, that people kept asking him how he was doing.

 

“You could have asked,” Auston sighs. “I tell you everything, Marns. Why the fuck would you think you couldn't ask me this?”

 

“I didn't want to presume,” Mitch says, sort of offended.

 

“Sometimes I wish Willy and Gards had your awareness of personal boundaries,” Auston shakes his head.

 

“Me? Personal boundaries?” Mitch bursts out laughing. “Are you serious?”

 

“You are actually remarkably good at not prying, especially when compared to those two,” Auston points out.

 

Mitch thinks about it and realizes that it is true. In part, it’s because he doesn't want to bother people about their personal affairs. Mostly, however, it’s because he doesn't want Matty to get tired of him.

 

“I am fine,” Auston repeats, when Mitch stares at him intently. “Seriously, Marns. I am completely recovered. You know we waited a while to get me back into the line-up to avoid the risk of reinjure.”

 

“Yeah, but it’s always tricky,” Mitch says.

 

“It’s as tricky as your shoulder injury last year. Or mono,” Auston reminds him gently, squeezing Mitch’s ankle in reassurance. “But I’ve been back for a while now, and I feel fine. Bye-week is gonna help, and so did the holiday break. So don’t worry about me, okay?”

 

Mitch nods, though he doesn't really think now it’s the time to tell Auston he’s always going to worry, just a bit.

 

Soon after that, Auston yawns loudly and apologizes immediately.

 

“The bed in the guest room is made,” Mitch tells him. “There are clean towels in the en-suite, but if you need stuff, you know where everything is.”

 

Auston nods, yawning again, albeit more gracefully. “Aren’t you going to sleep?” Auston asks.

 

“In a minute,” Mitch says, gesturing towards his hot chocolate. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Okay,” Auston agrees. “We can talk more then, but it’s going to be fine, Mitchy.”

 

Mitch smiles, but says nothing. He just hopes Auston’s not being too optimistic about the whole thing.

 

“Night,” Auston says, passing by Mitch and ruffling Mitch’s hair like Marty had done earlier in the evening, because they’re both assholes—Mitch is really _not_ a fucking puppy.

 

It takes a while for Auston to get ready for bed, but once the apartment quiets down, and noises cease to come from the guestroom, Mitch gets up and goes to his room to retrieve his blanket.

 

After putting away the cups and the pan Auston used to make them their nighttime drink, Mitch goes to sit at the window. Auston might have tried his best to assuage Mitch’s worries, but things are still buzzing in Mitch’s head. Sleep might have to wait.

 

“Mitch,” a voice whispers, sometimes later.

 

Mitch moves away, trying to find a more confortable position to fall back to sleep.

 

“Mitch,” the voice repeats, more insistent.

 

“What?” Mitch says, or at least he thinks he says that. There is a hand shaking his shoulder, and, really, he’d like not to be awake when he’s finally asleep.

 

“What are you doing here?” the voice asks, and it finally registers that it’s Auston’s.

 

Mitch blinks his eyes open and looks up to see him, half asleep and out of sorts.

 

“Why are you awake?” Mitch asks.

 

“Why am I awake?” Auston replies. “Why are you?”

 

“I was asleep,” Mitch grumbles. He was, damn it.

 

“Sitting up against the window?” Auston asks incredulous.

 

“It’s perfectly confortable,” Mitch states with conviction. Certain nights, it’s preferable to the bed, to be honest.

 

“You are a professional athlete, Mitch,” Auston says, dragging him to his feet. “There is nothing confortable about sleeping like that.”

 

“What time is it?” Mitch yawns as Auston leads him to the master bedroom.

 

“A little after four,” Auston replies.

 

“Thank god practice isn’t until 2,” Mitch says.

 

“Still doesn't explain why you’re not in your bed Mitch,” Auston comments.

 

“I don't like to sleep in it,” Mitch explains absent-mindedly. “It gets too loud.”

 

“And it’s quieter in the living room?” Auston asks curious, setting Mitch on the bed.

 

“In my head,” Mitch clarifies, lying down. “It gets too loud in my head.”

 

Auston stares at Mitch, who’s frankly too tired to worry about the little gem he just dropped. It can be the first issue for tomorrow’s agenda: convincing Auston he’s not crazy.

 

“Is it gonna help if I keep you company?” Auston asks hesitantly. “You usually sleep well enough when we are on the road.”

 

They don't share the bed, when they are on the road, but Auston is right. Mitch does sleep better when he knows Auston is in the room. It’s whatever.

 

“Probably,” Mitch mumbles, burrowing into his pillow. “I should be fine, though. Am tired,” he adds.

 

“You were tired five hours ago,” Auston points out, which, rude. Still, Mitch can’t really blame him, because he’s right.

 

“Goodnight, Matty,” he says.

 

“Goodnight, Mitchy,” Auston replies. Whether he stays or he goes, Mitch doesn't know. He’s out like a light.

 

***

 

When Mitch wakes up next, it’s bright outside, and he cannot tell whether Matty decided to sleep in Mitch’s bed or whether he went back to the guestroom. Not that it matters. Mitch slept like a log, which is fantastic, considering how things have been going.

 

Getting out of bed, Mitch stops in the bathroom before going to the kitchen to figure out what to do for breakfast.

 

Auston is already there, a cup of coffee before him and a bowl of cereal next to it. He has showered, but he’s still wearing the t-shirt and sweatpants Mitch lent him last night.

 

“I was about to come and get you,” Auston says with a smile.

 

“What time is it?” Mitch asks, stifling a yawn.

 

“Almost ten,” Auston answers. “We’ve got plenty of time, but I didn't know if you had plans or something.”

 

“No plans,” Mitch says, grabbing some cereal for himself and bypassing the coffee pot altogether. He tries to avoid caffeine as much as possible, what with the erratic sleeping patterns of the past few months.

 

“You’ve got almost no food,” Auston points out.

 

“I know,” Mitch wrinkles his nose. “I didn't have time to get groceries. I am going after practice.”

 

They have a game tomorrow, against Columbus, so Coach is not going to keep them too long today.

 

“Zach and Willy texted me,” Auston continues. “They’re grabbing an early lunch in about an hour. Do you wanna go?”

 

“Sure,” Mitch nods, while shoveling his food down. He’s hungry—not that’s ever a problem, but if he sleeps well his appetite increases exponentially. It seems counterintuitive to him, but he’s used to the quirks of his body and tends to go with the flow.

 

“Do you want to go get your car now?” Mitch asks once he’s done with his cereal.

 

“No, I’m good,” Auston replies. “But I’d like to go home and change. I really don't want to give Willy more ammunitions than necessary.”

 

Mitch smirks. “Don’t blame you. Let me take a quick shower. We can be out of here in 20.”

 

“Take your time,” Auston says, waving his cup. “And Marns,” he adds, as Mitch gets up to put the bowl in the dishwasher before going to the bathroom.

 

“What?” Mitch says, turning towards Auston.

 

“We’re not done talking,” Auston says serious.

 

“Matty …” Mitch replies warningly.

 

“No, Mitchy,” Auston interrupts him, resolute. “Not now, but we have a few days break coming up after the game against Ottawa. We’re going to sit down and discuss this.”

 

“There is really nothing more to discuss,” Mitch says.

 

“You prefer to sleep on a windowsill than in your bed because your head gets too loud, Mitch,” Auston points out gently. “I wanna help.”

 

Mitch rubs a hand over his eyes and sighs, resigned.

 

“Maybe,” he concedes, sort of. He really doesn't want to go over everything again. However, he cannot deny that talking to Auston last night played a big part in him being able to sleep more than usual.

 

“Mitch,” Auston says getting up and putting his hands on Mitch’s shoulders.

 

Mitch looks at him and he’s struck, as always, by Auston’s eyes.

 

People often compliment Mitch because he has clear blue eyes—he’s had girlfriends completely enraptured with them. Mitch thinks his eyes are sort of blah, to be honest. Nothing to write home about—tons of people have blue eyes.

 

Nobody, on the other hand, has Auston Matthews’ eyes. Mitch wishes he could compliment Auston because of them. He never realized how hypnotizing brown eyes can be until he met Auston—Stromer has brown eyes, and Mitch never wanted to stare at them for longer than a second. With Auston, Mitch would be perfectly happy to sit before him and stare forever.

 

“Mitch,” Auston repeats, taking him out of his reveries.

 

“What,” Mitch says.

 

“I really want to help, buddy,” Auston reassures him.

 

“I am not sure there is something you can do, Matty,” Mitch admits. “I just need to work through this.”

 

“We can work through it together,” Auston says firmly. “Plus, it will help if you get back to sleeping more regularly in a bed.”

 

“You think?” Mitch deadpans, because Auston is very nice, but Mitch is not dumb. He knows he needs to sleep in a bed—he just can’t help it if his bed is currently not his favorite place.

 

“Go take a shower,” Auston says, pushing Mitch towards the bathroom.

 

Mitch follows Auston’s orders and comes back to the kitchen twenty minutes later. Auston has cleaned up their breakfast debris and he’s on the couch, looking at his phone.

 

“I am ready,” Mitch says.

 

Auston looks up, furrows his forehead and says, “Go dry your hair, it’s like, minus twenty outside.”

 

Mitch looks at him astonished. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

 

“Nope,” Auston replies, going back to futzing around on his phone.

 

“It’s going to be dry in, like, two minutes,” Mitch whines.

 

“You’re tired and we have a game tomorrow. Go dry your hair,” Auston repeats, unmovable.

 

Mitch stomps back to the bathroom and rubs a towel through his hair. The end result makes him look like he went through a wind tunnel, but he doesn't want to put gel on, so he sucks it up and goes back to the living room.

 

“Happy, now?” Mitch grumbles.

 

Auston looks up again, and a bright smile lights up his face.

 

“Ecstatic,” he says. “I like the newborn chick look. Very 2010s.”

 

“Fuck off, Matthews. We can’t all look like mafia dons.”

 

Auston laughs and gets off the couch. He’s changed back into his game-day suit while Mitch was in the shower, so in short order they’re in Mitch’s car and they make it to Auston’s place in good time. It’s Sunday: there isn’t a lot of traffic, yet.

 

Auston is in and out of his apartment in less than 10 minutes, and Mitch drives them to the restaurant where Zach and Willy are waiting for them—some gastro-fusion-something-or-other place Carrick recommended not long ago.

 

“Hymie is already there,” Auston says from the passenger seat, staring at his phone. “Willy is running late.”

 

“So another day at the office, then,” Mitch comments.

 

Auston snorts, but says nothing, well acquainted with Willy’s chronic lateness for anything not hockey related. Even telling his the meeting is earlier than planned doesn't work. Willy is going to show up late no matter what.

 

It doesn't take Mitch long to find a parking spot, and once they’re in the restaurant, not yet busy despite the hour, Auston locates Hymie and drags Mitch to the table Zach’s secured in a sort-of-secluded spot off the side of the main dining hall.

 

Zach fist-bumps them both, before saying, “Willy is parking now, so it’s not going to be too long.”

 

“Whatever, bro,” Mitch says, leaning towards the back of the chair and stifling a yawn. “As long as we make it to practice in time, I am in no rush.”

 

“Long night?” Zach asks raising his eyebrows.

 

Auston snorts again, because Auston can be a dick.

 

“Fuck off, Matts,” Mitch says, flipping him off. He doesn't want to talk about it.

 

Auston seems to have other ideas, because he tries to stare Mitch into submission, but Mitch can out-stubborn Connor McDavid. He’s got no problems in out-stubborning Auston Matthews. So he stares back and dares Matty to bring his issues up without his expressed permission.

 

Auston must get the message, because he sighs but lets it go.

 

Thankfully, their waiter comes by with menus and water for everybody and soon thereafter Willy makes his appearance in a flurry of blond hair, blue coat and grey scarf. Mitch is jealous of how good Willy’s at choosing clothes that’ll enhance his features. He would ask Willy for advice, but he doesn't want to be mocked until the 2075 draft.

 

“Have you ordered yet?” Willy asks, after sitting on the last available chair, near Zach and across from Mitch.

 

“Nope,” Zach says, passing him the menu.

 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Willy says, looking put off, like he’s not the one who’s late. “I already checked the menu on line. Their French Toast comes highly recommended.”

 

“That’s exactly what you need before practice: sugar,” Zach observes, kicking Willy in the shin.

 

“Ouch,” Willy complains. “I am also getting some eggs and bacon, what the fuck. Don’t ruin the merchandise.”

 

_The merchandise?_ Mitch mouths, looking at Auston.

 

He’s not super familiar with the Willy-and-Zach show. He knows it’s slightly less entertaining than the Leo-and-Naz show, but still fun to watch. Mitch is aware, however, that sometimes Willy comes out with little pearls of wisdom—okay, maybe not wisdom—that makes Mitch wonders about the solidity of the Swedish education system.

 

Auston shrugs, clearly more used than Mitch is to his lineys’ antics, and Mitch lets it go.

 

As Zach and Willy continue to bicker, with Auston interjecting some comments here and there, Mitch is reminded of the fact that, in some ways at least, he is an interloper. Sure, they’re his teammates and, more importantly, they’re his friends. Mitch believes this from the bottom of his bruised heart.

 

Despite all this, however, he’s looking at the Leafs’ top line, and the rapport they share is something that Mitch doesn't get to be a part of. He has a similar chemistry with Bozie and JVR, and he’s thankful for that. He’s also happy that he can play as effectively with Patty and Marty if the situation—or rather Coach—demands it. But he’s never going to belong with Auston the way in which Zach and Willy do. And that hurts so fucking much. Mitch cannot believe how much it hurts, sometimes.

 

“Hey,” Auston says softly, a hand on Mitch’s thigh. “Are you okay?”

 

Zach and Willy are debating the merits of choosing a frittata over a quiche—this is where they need Connor, really—and they’re not paying attention to Mitch. Auston clearly is.

 

“Sorry,” Mitch says. “I zoned out.”

 

“I noticed,” Auston admits. “What where you thinking about?”

 

Mitch is so out of it that he answers truthfully.

 

“How much I miss playing with you,” he whispers, looking at Hymie gesticulating about kale, or something equally disgusting. He’s been spending too much time with the nutritionists, Mitch suspects.

 

Auston’s hand squeezes Mitch’s thigh and Mitch is forced to turn his attention towards him.

 

“You are playing with me,” Auston remarks, patently confused.

 

“Not like they do,” Mitch confesses, gesturing towards Willy and Zach.

 

“Marns,” Auston says, eyes widening in surprise.

 

“Forget it,” Mitch tries to dismiss what he just blurted out. “It’s nothing.”

 

“It’s not nothing if it’s bothering you,” Auston points out, all reasonable and shit.

 

“It was fun,” Mitch admits, since the cat is out of the bag. “I wish we could have done that more.”

 

“Done what more?” Willy pipes in, clearly having exhausted any food-related topic with Hymie.

 

“Slept,” Mitch says quickly, because he might be willing to have this conversation with Auston, but the rest of the team doesn't need to know about it.

 

“You and me, dude,” Willy readily agrees. “Don't get me wrong, this is much better than the insane schedule we had back in December, but the day-in-day-out games are really exhausting.”

 

“December was only, like, seven days ago,” Zach complains. “I still haven’t recovered from that.”

 

“Do you think it’s going to get better?” Willy asks. “Because last year seemed so much easier, to be honest.”

 

“Last year we were all running high on having made the team,” Auston comments. “I don't think we felt much of anything.”

 

“I mean,” Mitch adds. “I remember that eating, sleeping and playing were the only things I managed to do. Barely.”

 

“There is that,” Willy agrees.

 

“Mo and Gards say it _does_ get easier,” Hymie says. “I am not sure I believe them though. Sometimes they look more exhausted than I am.”

 

“To be fair, Mo has much more media commitments than any of us,” Willy observes.

 

“Patty seems to be doing just fine, and he’s twice our age,” Mitch reminds them all.

 

“Patty’s used to the Pacific Division travelling schedule,” Auston says. “This is nothing to him.”

 

“I just hope _I_ get used to this,” Willy sighs, as the waiter comes to take their order. “Because this kind of sucks.”

 

They continue to chat about insane schedules and coping strategies—with a brief interval to put in their orders. Mitch relaxes progressively as he realizes that Willy and Zach are as stressed and as exhausted as he feels. It’s reassuring to know that he’s not the odd man out in this.

 

Auston is, as usual, more tight-lipped about this kind of problems—it’s the same type of burden Mitch has seen Davo carry—but everyone can see the exhaustion etched in his face. Mitch aches for him, sometimes, but he knows there isn’t much he can do to help, especially when he cannot seem to be able to help himself.

 

“What are you guys planning to do with our bye-week?” Willy asks, changing topic of conversation. After the game against the Sens, they have five days off, which is heavenly, what with the season they have been having, Mitch thinks.

 

“Sleep,” Zach says, leaning back on his chair and taking a sip of the orange juice the waiter brought him a few moments before. “Sleep, sleep, sleep and more sleep.”

 

“You are boring,” Willy complains wrinkling his nose. “Plus I know your plans already, I was really asking Marns. You booked a fucking trip to the Bahamas and you’re going to lay in the shade and nap for four days like the loser you are.”

 

“Because you are the epitome of excitement,” Hymie replies, tossing his napkin at Willy’s head.

 

“Epitome?” Willy rolls his eyes. “Don’t throw big words at me, college boy. It’s too early in the morning.”

 

“It’s noon, Willy,” Mitch points out, as lunch finally arrives. He’ actually relieved he doesn't have to answer Willy’s question about his bye-week plans. Marty has been bothering him about doing something together like they did last year, but Mitch isn’t really in the mood to spend time with him and his girlfriend. Lovey-dovey doesn't do it for him right about now.

 

“Plus the not-so-smart act might convince the media, but don't pull it with us,” Auston adds.

 

Willy huffs but says nothing, because he knows better than to argue the point.

 

“How is the frittata?” he asks Zach, his voice filled with innuendo.

 

Zach, who in Mitch’s opinion should be the better man when it comes to William Nylander, doesn't even turn. He simply throws a broccoli at Willy. It lands on his perfectly coifed hair.

“I just asked how the frittata is, jeez,” Willy whines, while picking up the broccoli and eating it.

 

“I’m just going to pretend I didn't see that,” Mitch says. “That way, I don't have to report back to Mo about your behavior in public.”

 

“Fuck you,” Willy responds. “My mama raised me right. I behave perfectly well in public.”

 

“When she’s around, maybe,” Auston says.

 

“Eat your toast, Willy,” Zach says sighing heavily. “And please, for the love of god, shut up for a minute.”

 

That starts off another bickering session, and, granted, Mitch doesn't spend a ton of time around the two of them, because he spends most of his time with Auston or Marty, but this seems like a new level of insanity.

 

“Is this a new development?” he asks, leaning into Auston to make sure he’s not overheard. “Because I don't remember them being so feisty last year.”

 

“This is Willy’s therapy,” Auston explains with a smile.

 

“Arguing with Hymie about …” Mitch turns his attention towards his two teammates, who are now involved in a debate about the best colors for national flags—and how in the fuck did they get to that?

 

“Don’t ask,” Auston shrugs when Mitch looks at him, an incredulous expression on his face. “This actually makes sense.”

 

“How?” Mitch whispers, because in no universe does an argument about the merits of blue vs. purple in national flags make any sense whatsoever.

 

“Once, they spent an afternoon discussing curtain patterns,” Auston explains. “Be thankful you weren’t there for that.”

 

“Neither of them has curtains in their apartments. They have blinds,” Mitch points out.

 

“Precisely,” Auston says, a resigned expression on his face.

 

“Why?” Mitch asks.

 

“As I said,” Auston smiles at Mitch, “it’s good therapy.”

 

Mitch turns towards his meal—he went for a relatively simple omelet—and chews on his food pensively, while paying attention to Zach and Willy’s conversation.

 

Neither of them discusses hockey at all, but Mitch can get behind the lighthearted banter as a way of letting out steam. Zach and Willy have known each other for years, so it is also totally possible this is a well-established pattern for the two of them. What is certain is that, as lunch progresses, the tension Mitch hadn’t realized Willy was carrying around his shoulder lifts. It’s almost imperceptible, but it’s there.

 

By the end of lunch, Willy has decided that the best flag in the world—except for the Swedish one, of course—is Bhutan’s. Mitch doesn't even know where Bhutan is, but, when Willy shows him a picture, he has to acknowledge the dragon is pretty neat. Zach, on the other hand, seems to prefer Mexico’s, which is also very neat, what with the golden eagle and what not—it turns out that eagles are very popular in flags.

 

Auston looks at Mitch pitifully, like Mitch getting dragged into the debate is a sign of weakness or something. Mitch supposes Auston must have to have developed pretty strong survival instincts in order to co-exist with his lineys for so long.

 

The four of them split up outside of the restaurant, Mitch and Auston make their way towards the car.

 

“So,” Mitch begins. “I sleep by the window, and Willy argues with Zach, who in turn comes up with insane ideas just to provoke him. What do you do to handle the stress?”

 

“I talk to my dad,” Auston admits easily. “Sometimes I call my mom, but mostly it’s my dad, since he’s here often, and my mom isn’t.”

 

Mitch hums, because Auston had hinted that much last night, when he’d suggested Mitch talk to _his_ dad.

 

“Makes sense,” Mitch comments.

 

“But not for you,” Auston observes.

 

Mitch says nothing, but he doesn't need to. Auston gets it, after all. He’s known Mitch long enough by now to understand he has a complex, albeit loving, relationship with his father.

 

The rest of the ride is quiet. Auston is occupied with his phone, and Mitch sort of sings along some of the radio’s songs. By the time they get to the rink, Mitch feels much better than he had twenty-four hours ago. Wasn't it his grandmother who used to say that a burden shared is a burden halved, or something like that?

 

***

 

Practice goes reasonably well. Coach is in whatever passes for a good mood in Coach’s head these days, and Mitch doesn't have to do media, which is a blessing.

 

Naz regales them with last night’s wondrous adventures in some newish bar that opened near the airport while Mo shakes his head, clearly disappointed he wasn't allowed to pick the evening entertainment after all.

 

Freddie and Mac are on fire, and so is Patty, and some of the drills quickly degenerate in a clash among titans. Babs lets them play around—for all that he’s an hard-ass, he is good at reading the room’s mood and at letting them blow off some steam when he realizes they need it.

 

All in all, Mitch counts it as a good day. So he leaves the rink in a happy mood. He feels so well, in fact, that the trip at the grocery store is not such a hardship and he spends a good fifteen minutes sending pictures of various vegetables and fish to both Stromer and Davo, just because.

 

Once at home, however, Mitch decides that ordering in is the better part of valor, and he can cook something tomorrow, or, rather, the day after, once their break begins. He’s scrolling through his favorite Thai restaurant’s menu when the doorbell rings. At the same time, a text notification pops up on his phone.

 

_Let me in_ , says Auston.

 

Mitch goes to the door and opens it. Auston is standing on the other side, a bag with takeout in one hand and a duffle bag in the other.

 

“Did we have plans?” Mitch asks.

 

“We do now,” Auston says, making his way to Mitch’s kitchen after having dropped most of his stuff in the vestibule.

 

Mitch isn’t one to turn down free food, so he gets some plates and pretends to set the table—Adulting 101, here.

 

They divide up the food—Thai, because Auston Matthews is also a mind reader, apparently—and begin to eat in earnest.

 

“Are you going somewhere?” Mitch asks, referring to Auston’s luggage.

 

“Only as far as your guestroom,” Auston replies, faux-casually.

 

Mitch’s eyebrows go up in surprise.

 

“Say that again?” he says, because no way Auston means what Mitch thinks he means.

 

“I am staying over for a bit,” Auston explains, looking everywhere but at Mitch.

 

“If you wanted to move in together, you just had to ask, Matty,” Mitch chirps him. “ _Mi casa es tu casa_ , etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.”

 

“Didn't want to run the risk of you saying no,” Auston points out, which Mitch probably would have, because he doesn't really need an intervention—and this is what Auston is carrying out, a fucking intervention.

 

“I mean, it’s a pretty big deal, you have to admit,” Mitch says, “especially since you still haven’t asked me out on a date, not to mention kiss me.”

 

Auston rolls his eyes and sighs at the same time, but his lips do that little twitch which shows he’s trying not to smile. It’s really endearing.

 

“Are you planning to tuck me in, too?” Mitch asks, waggling his eyebrows.

 

“If necessary,” Auston states.

 

“I am gonna be fine, Matty,” Mitch says serious, trying to reassure him.

 

“I know that, Marns,” Auston replies equally serious. “But you slept last night, and you look much better today. If having someone around is going to help speed up the process, I am happy to be here. I would have suggested you spend sometimes at mine or Marty’s, but I know how you are about your own space when you’re in Toronto.”

 

“Your dad doesn't mind?” Mitch asks.

 

“He thought it was a great idea, actually,” Auston says. “I didn't go into detail, but I mentioned you weren’t sleeping well. Sorry about that,” he adds sheepishly

 

“It’s fine,” Mitch says. Mr. Matthews is really awesome and Mitch likes him. He’s got no problem with him knowing Mitch’s turned into an insomniac because of the stress of underperforming.

 

“Cool,” Auston says.

 

“We’re still not gonna talk about it,” Mitch warns him, just to make sure.

 

“We should,” Auston replies. “I want to know what’s going on in your head that you can’t sleep.”

 

“What’s in my head is going to be there in three days,” Mitch points out, trying to get Auston away from discussing this.

 

“I know,” Auston acknowledges, passing a hand through his hair. “I don't mean to push you, Mitch, but I am really worried. Between the crying and the not-sleeping, I don't know what to think.”

 

“I am sorry,” Mitch whispers, dropping his fork and scrubbing his face.

 

“No, Mitch,” Auston says, getting up and kneeling before Mitch’s chair, forcing Mitch to look at him by physically moving the chair towards him.

 

“Wow,” Mitch says, because the display of strength is hot as hell, but also kind of scary.

 

“I meant it last night,” Auston says, all serious, looking at Mitch from his crouched position. “You don't need to apologize for anything. I get it that it’s hard and that you are going through a difficult time. I’m just sorry I didn't even notice and that you didn't think you could tell me.”

 

“I did tell you,” Mitch mutters.

 

“Some of it,” Auston concedes. “But, Mitch. You talk about everything and anything. You don't really keep things in—that’s more my style. So you can see why I am concerned, right?”

 

“I keep some stuff inside,” Mitch admits looking at Auston. “When it gets too loud I need time to work through things. I always have. It’s just that you haven’t seen me not doing well before now. Last year was a breeze in comparison.”

 

“Yeah,” Auston says getting up, his knees creaking like an old man’s. “I am realizing this.”

 

Auston grabs his chair and moves it so he can sit closer to Mitch.

 

“You should finish your food,” he adds, grabbing his plate.

 

“Finish your food, dry your hair,” Mitch grumbles.

 

“I can still call your mom,” Auston threatens again, the dick.

 

Mitch refrains from saying anything, and shoves the food in his mouth.

 

They eat in silence, Mitch lost in his thought while Auston is clearly mulling over something—he’s got the same expression he gets sometimes, when he’s trying to figure out the best way to deal with a particularly tricky opposing goalie.

 

By the time they’ve put everything away and Auston’s dropped his stuff in the guest room, it’s almost nine o’clock and Mitch is ready for bed and dreading it at the same time.

 

Auston’s phone has been buzzing almost incessantly, though Auston’s been ignoring it, which is really impressive, Mitch thinks.

 

“Did you ditch a hot date to babysit me?” Mitch asks once they settle in front of the TV for some Netflix.

 

“It’s Zach. He wanted to hang, but I told him I couldn't,” Auston explains.

 

Mitch furrows his forehead in confusion.

 

“Werenski,” Auston clarifies.

 

“Shit, Matty,” Mitch says, mortified. He totally forgot that the Blue Jackets were in town tonight already. “You should go.”

 

“He’s doing something with his teammates, and we’ll catch up another time,” Auston says. “Don’t get worried about this, too. It’s no big deal.”

 

“I feel like a walking disaster,” Mitch says, shaking his head.

 

“Hey,” Auston says, dragging Mitch towards him and side-hugging him. Mitch lets him, because he hasn't gotten a decent hug in a while—cellies don't count and Stromer is in Arizona.

 

“Hey,” Auston repeats, when Mitch doesn't look at him.

 

“What?” Mitch says, leaning against the back of the couch and Auston’s shoulder at the same time.

 

“You’re not a walking disaster and Zach and I didn't make any plans,” Auston says. “You know how I get before games. Sometimes I wanna go out, and sometimes I don't. Today I don't.”

 

“And yet here you are, out,” Mitch points out.

 

“ _Tu casa es mi casa_ , that’s what you said earlier,” Auston reminds Mitch. “I am clearly not out.”

 

“Whatever,” Mitch says, because he needs to stop feeling bad about everything that happens around him. Auston’s old enough to make his own decisions, after all—has been doing so for a while.

 

They stay like this for a bit, the TV off, Mitch’s Netflix homepage reminding them of their limitless entertainment options.

 

“I miss playing with you, too,” Auston says quietly, after a while.

 

Mitch turns to look at him—the angle is awkward, because they’re still huddled together, but it’s doable.

 

“I didn't think about it until you mentioned it, today,” Auston continues. “But it was really fun, wasn't it?”

 

“Yeah,” Mitch smiles softly at Auston’s comment. “It really was.”

 

“I guess I sort of took it for granted that it wasn't going to happen again,” Auston explains. “So I didn't think about it too much.”

 

“It helps that the lines Babs rolls out tend to work as a matter of course,” Mitch says, trying to be reasonable.

 

“But we worked well, also,” Auston says.

 

“You, Willy and Hymie work much better,” Mitch comments loyally, because it’s true.

 

“For good reasons,” Auston remarks. “And don't get me wrong, I love playing with them, even when I have to endure stupid hours long debates about color palettes or the best way of raising cattle … don't even ask,” Auston hastens to say when Mitch opens his mouth in search of clarification. “But,” Auston adds, “I would love it if we could play together more often. We are good, together.”

 

“We are,” Mitch says happily. “But I really wanna know about cattle.”

 

“No, Mitchy,” Auston says adamantly. “You really don't. You don't wanna know about any more than you want to know about frittatas, flags, or the best currency in the world.”

 

“This is awesome,” Mitch says, grabbing his phone.

 

“What are you doing?” Auston asks, looking down at Mitch’s hands flying over his touchscreen.

 

“I am Googling cool topics to have a debate over, so I can suggest them to Zach and Willy,” Mitch explains excitedly.

 

Auston groans. “You’re going to lit a light in a oil well, is that what you are doing?”

 

“I have the best ideas,” Mitch claims proudly.

 

“You’re sitting with them when you do that,” Auston warns him.

 

“I am bringing popcorn for both of us,” Mitch promises. “Come on,” he adds, showing Auston his screen. “Don't you want to see who’s gonna win between Canadian poutine and Swedish potatoes?”

 

“You are a terrible, horrible person,” Auston proclaims. “And I can’t believe they still haven’t argued about that. Though I am not always with them.”

 

“I am making a list of suitable topics,” Mitch says, typing furiously on his phone.

 

Auston leaves him to it and grabs the remote control.

 

“Narcos okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Mitch says, not particularly invested in the show. It’s good, because it means he might fall asleep there and then, which is a plus. Auston is perfectly aware of this fact, which makes him Mitch’s most favorite person in the entire galaxy.

 

There is something to be said about being in love with your best friend. They know you so well, and they quickly find ways to help and keep you safe.

 

“If I fall asleep, wake me up,” Auston says after settling into the couch, his arm still around Mitch’s shoulders.

 

“Mmm?” Mitch says, now engrossed in a back-and-forth with Marty about the upcoming bye-week plans, or lack thereof. “Yeah, you too.”

 

It doesn't surprise Mitch one bit that he’s texting Marty one second, and fast asleep the next.

 

***

 

When Mitch wakes up, it’s bright. He’s still on the couch, laying on his left side and facing the TV. The screen is dark, suggesting that Auston must have turned it off at some point, even if he decided not to bother Mitch and left him to sleep.

 

It takes a second for Mitch to realize that the reason why Auston didn't wake him up is because Auston, too, fell asleep on the couch, considering he’s clearly plastered against Mitch’s back.

 

That’s Auston’s arm, lying across Mitch’s stomach.

 

That’s Auston’s nose, stuck against Mitch’s nape.

 

That’s Auston’s breath, puffing lightly against Mitch’s hair.

 

What. The. Fuck.

 

Mitch turns slightly to make sure he’s not making this shit up, what with his hopeless crush and inner longing, but no. That’s Auston’s face, two centimeters from Mitch’s nose, relaxed in sleep, despite the chronic tiredness etched in his features.

 

They have a fucking game today, and spending the night on a couch is not exactly the best of ideas, although it’s an improvement on the window, at least as far as Mitch is concerned. And granted, Auston can sleep pretty much everywhere, for all that he doesn't sleep a lot, but they’re both professional athletes squeezed in what is, at best, a twin bed.

 

Mitch scrubs his face with his hands and goes to dislodge Auston’s arm, so that he can get up and go to the bathroom, when said arm flexes.

 

“You didn't wake me up,” Auston mumbles, still half asleep.

 

“Neither did you,” Mitch says, looking at him.

 

“I don't even remember falling asleep,” Auston admits. “Must have been more tired than I thought,” he adds.

 

Mitch casts a glance at the clock by the window.

 

“No shit,” he says. “It’s 7:30.”

 

“Oh,” Auston says, blinking his eyes in surprise. “I guess your couch is more confortable than I thought.”

 

“Or maybe you are just as tired as everyone else,” Mitch says.

 

“There is that,” Auston admits with a grimace. “Did you figure out what you and Marty are gonna do for bye-week?”

 

“No,” Mitch answers, turning on his back and looking at the ceiling.

 

Mitch doesn't mind cuddling with Auston—they don't do it often, what with Auston not being the poster child for cuddling—but he doesn't want to actually stare at Auston’s dumb face when it’s so close to his. The temptation of dropping an unwanted kiss on Auston’s lips might get too strong.

 

Auston doesn't remove his arm from around Mitch, though Mitch suspects it’s because he’s not completely awake yet. Auston is a ‘two-cups-of-coffee-in-the-morning’ sort of person.

 

“Well,” Auston tells him. “The possibilities are endless.”

 

“Marty just wants to go somewhere warm, like we did last year,” Mitch explains. “I am not sure I want to go with them, though,” he admits.

 

“You don't have to, right?” Auston asks, perplexed.

 

“No, no,” Mitch reassures him, not wanting Auston to think Marty is pressuring him. “It’s just that Marty wants to take care of all of us, and part of that is making sure we actually take a break.”

 

“Mmm,” Auston says.

 

“Are you still going to California with Freddie?” Mitch asks.

 

That had been another thing that had hurt, although Mitch had nobody to blame but himself. Auston had made bye-week plans without asking Mitch if he wanted to do something together.

 

And sure, they hadn’t done it last year, and Auston might have thought Mitch wasn't interested, but it had hurt—because a lot of things hurt these days.

 

“No,” Auston says, surprising Mitch. He’d thought those plans had been finalized back in October.

 

“Why?” Mitch asks turning towards Auston.

 

“I guess I forgot to tell you,” Auston realizes. “Freddie decided he’s going home for a few days.”

 

“It’s a long trip for five days,” Mitch points out.

 

“Yeah, but he wants to go anyway, and Coach was fine with it. Plus it’s Freddie. Nothing fazes him, least of all winter travels. He’s going to be fine.”

 

“So what are you gonna do?” Mitch asks. “Are you still going to Cali?”

 

“Nah,” Auston says. “I’ll go with Freddie this summer, like we did last August.”

 

Mitch chews on his lower lip for a moment, thinking things through. This might be the best or the worst idea he’s had of late, but whatever.

 

“Do you want to go somewhere together?” he asks tentatively.

 

Auston looks at him, barely masking his surprise at the request, but then he smiles his happy smile, the one he reserves for small children and awesome goals.

 

“Where were you thinking?” he asks.

 

“Somewhere warm with a bed,” Mitch confesses, because, really, his needs are very simple at this point.

 

Auston laughs. “That’s easy enough. Plenty of warm places to choose from.”

 

“You didn't make any other arrangements when Freddie decided to go home?” Mitch asks, because he doesn't want to railroad Auston’s plans with his other friends.

 

“I thought about going home myself, but I haven’t really finalized anything,” Auston explains. “Zach hinted he wouldn't mind company in the Bahamas, though, if you want to do that. But we can also do something by ourselves.”

 

Mitch thinks about it for a minute. He likes Zach a lot, and he doesn't get to spend as much time with him as he’d like during the season. Plus, it might be better to have someone as a buffer between him and Auston, so Mitch doesn't jump him when he’s half naked on a beach.

 

“If we can manage to book something where he’s staying, I am game for that,” Mitch decides.

 

Auston’s smile is even more blinding and he squeezes Mitch into a hug that knocks the air out of Mitch’s lungs.

 

“Jeez, Matts,” Mitch wheezes. “I need my internal organs still.”

 

“This is going to be awesome,” Auston says all excited. Then he gets up and grabs his phone.

 

“What are you doing?” Mitch asks, also getting off the couch and going to the kitchen to make some coffee for Auston and some herbal tea for himself.

 

“I am texting Hymie. I don't know where he’s staying, and I don't want to book us in the wrong resort.”

 

Mitch wants to roll his eyes at Auston’s sudden enthusiasm, but it’s just plain endearing, not to mention heartwarming. Mitch knows Auston loves him, but it’s nice to have the reminder, sometimes.

 

As he grabs some eggs, spinach and cheese to make them some breakfast, Auston’s phone rings.

 

“It’s Zach,” Auston explains.

 

“Which one?” Mitch asks with a smirk—there are a lot of Zachs, and a lot of Connors, in their lives, after all.

 

“Hi, Hymie,” Auston says. “You’re on speakers. I am at Marns’.”

 

“You guys really wanna tag along?” Zach says, as excited as Auston had sounded not two minutes ago. “Because that’d be lit. Like, I am totally fine sleeping in the sun by myself, but I’d be totally down with you coming, too.”

 

“Is it okay?” Mitch asks, looking at Zach’s distorted image on Auston’s phone.

 

“Are you kidding? I asked Auston back in the fall, but he had chiller plans with Freddie,” Zach mocks Matty.

 

“Fuck off, Hyman,” Auston grumbles, but he’s clearly hiding a smile.

 

“I can live with being his second choice, if you can,” Mitch laughs.

 

“Fine,” Zach sighs. “We can book your tickets and stuff after practice. I will bring all the info, okay?”

 

“That’d be great, bro, thanks,” Auston says.

 

“Cool,” Zach says happily before hanging up without saying goodbye, because apparently an excited Zach Hyman is a not-so-polite Zach Hyman.

 

Mitch looks at Auston, who looks back somewhat surprised. They burst out laughing at the same time, because this is going to be prime chirp material—Zach is nothing if not unfailing courteous.

 

“It’s gonna be awesome,” Auston says, pouring himself a cup of the coffee Mitch had prepared for him.

 

“It’s gonna be something, that’s for sure,” Mitch replies happily. “But we better hurry up. Practice is in an hour and if we get there late, Babs might just decide to confiscate our passport for bye-week.”

 

They make it to practice in time, because the two of them are nothing if not a well-oiled machine when it comes to commuting to and from the rink.

 

While they’re getting ready, Mitch approaches Marty and tells him what he’s decided to do. Marty is, predictably, very understanding and just happy Mitch is ‘getting the hell out of Toronto for a few days’. Mitch didn't think he’d be mad, but Mitch isn’t in the best frame of mind, so.

 

Practice is not too taxing, what with the game tonight, and Coach sends them to shower and change before video review.

 

In the locker room, Zach calls Auston and Mitch to his stall and shows them the resort where he’s staying.

 

“I don't think you’re gonna have a problem finding rooms,” he explains, “since we’re in the off-season. But maybe we should call.”

 

“Call who?” Willy asks, dropping on the seat next to Hymie while drying his hair with a towel.

 

“Matts and Marns are coming with me to the Bahamas,” Hymie explains excitedly.

 

“What?” Willy exclaims, clearly displeased. “What do you mean they’re coming with you? I thought that was your solo trip.”

 

“Only in so far as no one wanted to come along,” Zach says.

 

“It’s the Bahamas, who wants to go there?” Willy comments.

 

“Matts and Marns, apparently,” Zach says. Mitch would laugh at his tone of voice, but he’s within Zach’s reach, and he doesn't want to get smacked on the head, or something equally painful. He exchanges an amused glance with Auston, however.

 

“Well, if you’re all going, then I am coming, too,” Willy proclaims, with the tone of voice of a tyrant making a concession.

 

“What do you mean, you’re coming, too?” Zach sputters. “When I asked you if you wanted to come, you said the Bahamas are too provincial for your European taste. You wanted to go to the Azores.”

 

“We can go to the Azores next year,” Willy says assuredly, and Mitch gets the impression that their plans for next year’s bye-week are thereby established. “I am not letting the three of you go to the Bahamas without me.”

 

“Didn't you have plans already?” Auston asks.

 

“Nothing that I can’t reschedule,” Willy waves his hand dismissively. “But we should book a suite,” he adds.

 

“I already have a room,” Zach points out reasonably.

 

“And I am sure the resort management will be delighted to upgrade you to a suite when you inform them you are bringing three additional paying guests,” Willy points out, equally reasonable. Sometimes Mitch marvels at Willy’s ability to come out as a pretentious ass and still sound somewhat charming.

 

“Having our own rooms is better than having a suite,” Zach says stubbornly.

 

“Nonsense,” Willy replies. “What’s the phone number of this place? I am going to call them.”

 

“No,” Zach says. “ _I_ am going to call them. You’re going to fuck up the reservations and book one single for the four of us.”

 

Mitch looks at Auston a bit scared, because this has the potential of becoming another flag debate, but Mitch’s comfort is at stake, so it’s not as funny.

 

“How about we all call the resort after video review?” Auston suggests. “Because if we’re not in the video room in the next two minutes, Babs’s going to kill us.”

 

Willy looks at the clock and widens his eyes. He’s the only one not fully dressed, and he quickly grabs sweats and a hoodie before running out of the locker room, Hymie following at a more sedate pace.

 

“I am not sure whether this is the best idea ever, or the worst possible scenario,” Auston comments.

 

“I think it’s going to be awesome,” Mitch says, truly delighted. He hasn't felt this excited in a long time, and it’s because he’s going away with Auston and two of their coolest friends. Plus, he’s got a full night sleep and life is beautiful. He might even score a goal, tonight.

 

***

 

Mitch does score a goal that night, and another one and an assist two nights later against the Sens, even if they lose in overtime.

 

He doesn't know if it’s the idea of the upcoming trip or the fact that Matty has been spending the night—though in the guestroom bed—but Mitch feels much better than he did just a week ago.

 

Willy ended up with the upper hand and a suite, because apparently he’s much better at winning arguments than Zach is—Mitch wonders about the American education system as well, for all of five minutes, since Zach is the one with the college degree. Auston looks at him reproachfully, however, so Mitch shuts up.

 

The end result is that Mitch and Auston are going to be roomies at the resort exactly like they’re roomies on the road. Mitch cannot say that he minds, since having Auston around has helped him so much. Now he needs to find a way to be fine by himself. Relaxing and de-stressing in the sun for four days seem like a good place to start.

 

They leave very early the morning after the game against Ottawa, and by late afternoon they’re sipping margaritas on the beach. Well, Willy is sipping margaritas, because he’s a walking cliché. Auston and Zach have a beer, and Mitch decided to try a very light mojito, because Willy dared him to.

 

It’s nice, Mitch thinks as he watches the sun slowly sinking in the horizon. As Zach predicted, the resort is not crowded, what with it being the middle of the week in the middle of January. It’s possible more people will arrive over the weekend, but the chances of coming across Toronto hockey fans are very slim, so Mitch is optimistic about being able to put hockey aside for a few days.

 

Auston looks already very relaxed, sunglasses on and snapback pulled over his face—a hard habit to shake when you’re the most recognizable face of the franchise.

 

Willy is texting tons of pictures to Kappy, who had plans with his girlfriend and didn't come along, while Zach is reading a book—some biography of an American president or other that JVR gave him for Christmas. Zach is too nice, too Canadian, Mitch thinks. Mitch would have made paper cranes out of it. He knows how, so he’s not even kidding.

 

 

Mitch is looking at his Instagram history and liking posts he forgot to comment on in the last few days, what with the whole breakdown and Auston in his apartment on the regular. He’s also trying to figure out what to Snap to Dylan to keep their streak alive—they’re at 95 days, and the last time it was Mitch who let it die. Stromer hasn't forgiven him yet.

 

It’s a lazy afternoon and an even lazier evening. They decide to eat at the grill place—the beauty of all-inclusive resorts, there is plenty of food and there is plenty of choices—because Auston is craving stake and Zach is craving lobster. Willy seems not to care, and Mitch just wants a place that has decent deserts, so he’s game for pretty much anything.

 

After dinner, they find a pool table and Zach and Mitch team against Auston and Willy, because Willy says something about Canada, and Zach, as per script, gets all puffed up and offended like an angry kitten. Mitch simply rolls his eyes and tells Zach to focus on the game and not on Willy’s _mind_ games.

 

It works, because they slaughter them—in part because Willy doesn't really know how to play pool.

 

“Can we go and play cards, now?” Auston whines—he hates losing with the power of a million supernovas and it’s always fun to watch.

 

“Sure,” Zach says with a satisfied grin. Mitch nods, and Willy acquiesces with a long-suffering sigh.

 

“But tomorrow we scout the bars,” he makes them promise as they walk back to their suite.

 

“I didn't come here to pick up,” Zach says with a grimace.

 

“Neither did I,” Willy says. “I just want to explore the local night life.”

 

Auston looks at Mitch, who shrugs. “I am just in for the sun and to sleep. I am up for whatever.”

 

“Okay, then,” Zach says.

 

Later that evening, after a few rounds of cards and some more alcohol for his friends, Mitch is sitting on the porch that comes with the suite. They’re on the third floor, so they have a nice view of the beach and the sea, and they’re close enough that Mitch can hear the waves crashing on the shore. It’s a soothing sound, which comes at the end of a long but relaxing day.

 

It’s late, almost one o’clock, so nobody is around. Mitch likes it, because it allows him to enjoy the peace even more.

 

Willy and Zach retired to their room a while ago, bickering about chestnuts vs. hazelnuts—a debate topic provided by Mitch, despite Auston’s strong disapproval. Mitch thinks it’s a good starting point for the big poutine vs. Swedish potatoes challenge, which he’s going to throw at them at some point.

 

Auston is still awake, Skyping his family, and Mitch decided to give him some privacy, especially since they’ve been attached to the hip for pretty much the past 72 hours.

 

There isn’t much light coming from the hotel and its annexed buildings, so Mitch can see the night sky well. The stars look very pretty, something that Mitch doesn't often get to see while at home. Mitch doesn't know anything about constellations and what not, so he doesn't even try to figure out what’s up there, but it doesn't matter. They’re there, and Mitch is here, and for once things are quiet.

 

It’s the sea, though, that’s mesmerizing, what with its rhythmic sounds and movements. It’s very relaxing, and it helps Mitch let go of all the heavy thoughts. The hues of dark blue remind him of the Maple Leaf jerseys, of course, although on occasion Mitch can see flashes of grey and green and once, weirdly enough, some purple. Apparently the fish are really something to behold, out here.

 

Mitch’s inner critic has been remarkably quiet since Sunday. Mitch cannot believe how helpful it has been to have Auston around to talk to, even about nothing at all. And sure, he loves Auston so much, but apparently he also needs him, or, at least, he needs to know that Auston is there for him. This is a new thing, for Mitch. He’s used to being self-reliant, has to, what with hockey and leaving home when he was sixteen. Still, he doesn't mind. It’s good, he thinks, to need people. Plus, Auston is a good friend, and he’s been supportive while also respecting Mitch’s boundaries.

 

The door of the balcony opens and Mitch turns in time to see Auston step outside.

 

“My mom and dad say hello,” Auston says, sitting on the lawn chair beside Mitch’s.

 

“But not your sisters?” Mitch asks.

 

“They weren’t at home,” Auston explains. “It is the middle of the week.”

 

“Yeah,” Mitch replies. “Chris has been bitchy about that.”

 

“So, do you like it here?” Auston asks, relaxing into his chair. He’s changed for bed, a soft t-shirt and some thin shorts that leave very little room to the imagination.

 

“It’s heavenly,” Mitch sighs satisfied. “The food is great, the view is a dream and the company is not so bad.”

 

“I can’t believe you have a list of discussion topics for them,” Auston says. “I think you’re deliberately trying to sabotage our vacation.”

 

“Are you kidding me?” Mitch says. “It’s free entertainment, Matty. It doesn't get any better than this. You’ve been holding out on me.”

 

“I mean, if you like them that much, I can lend them to you permanently,” Auston says with a smirk.

 

“Nah,” Mitch says. “I am good with my crazy lineys, I don't need yours, too.”

 

“They’re just relentless,” Auston adds. “Like, some days I get why they do it, but there are times when I wonder if it’s not some elaborate form of foreplay.”

 

“Really?” Mitch asks, surprised.

 

“I mean, no, not really,” Auston says, suddenly looking self-conscious. “I mean, I don't actually know. It’s just a little strange, sometimes.”

 

“Auston Matthews,” Mitch says delighted, turning towards Auston and smiling toothily. “Are you actually embarrassed?”

 

“Shut up,” Auston says.

 

“No, no,” Mitch insists. “Are you losing your proverbial chill because our lovely teammates might be banging?”

 

“First of all,” Auston says all prim and proper, “I don't lose my chill, like, ever.”

 

Mitch just laughs because, even in the dark, he can see that Auston is scarlet.

 

“Second,” Auston adds, “please don't say bang. It’s middle-school.”

 

“Naz says bang all the time,” Mitch reminds him.

 

“And it’s still middle-school.”

 

“Okay, fine,” Mitch says. “Is fucking better? Having sex? Making love?”

 

Auston groans. “I didn't say they were.”

 

“No,” Mitch smiles. “And since I am very discreet and I don't like to gossip, I am going to drop the topic right now.”

 

“You’re not gonna say anything, are you?” Auston asks worriedly.

 

“About what?” Mitch asks puzzled. “Willy and Zach? There is nothing to say, right?”

 

“Yeah, I mean, it was just a poor comment, but I don't want to, like, spread rumors.”

 

Mitch nods in understanding. They all attended the sensitivity seminar, or whatever the fuck it’s called this year—it changes name every year, at least according to Naz, who’s been at several. So they all got the lectures about inclusion and tolerance and whatever not. But they all also go out on the ice day in and day out, and some of the words that get tossed around are neither inclusive nor tolerant.

 

“Of course,” Mitch says firmly. “Though they’d make a cute couple. Not as cute as me and Marty, but cute nonetheless.”

 

Auston snorts. “I’m not going to debate that with you.”

 

“But maybe they can debate that with each other,” Mitch exclaims.

 

“What? No, Mitchy,” Auston stops him right there. “Absolutely not. And who’s going to argue in favor of your and Marty’s cuteness? They’d both want to support themselves.”

 

“Point,” Mitch admits. “Anyways,” he continues, changing topics. “How are you? Do you like it here?”

 

“Yeah,” Auston says, sighing satisfied. “It’s really peaceful, you know. And nobody knows who we are. It’s awesome.”

 

“So you’re glad you came?” Mitch asks, suddenly hesitant. He wants to make sure this is good for Auston, too. Just because his season hasn't sucked as badly as Mitch’s, it doesn't mean he doesn't need the rest, also.

 

“Of course I am,” Auston says firmly. “This is exactly what I needed.”

 

“Oh, okay, good,” Mitch says. Then, after a minute-long pause, he adds, “I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done these past few days. I don't think I’ve told you, but you’re really helped.”

 

“Are you sure?” Auston asks, and now it’s his turn to be hesitant. “I haven’t been hovering?”

 

“No,” Mitch says. “Why?”

 

“I just wanted to make sure it hasn't been too much,” Auston says.

 

“No, it’s been perfect,” Mitch replies, and maybe he should not come out with these pearls, but whatever. Auston is doing him a solid here—love or not love.

 

“Cool,” Auston says, smiling shyly. “You’ve been sleeping better.”

 

“Yep,” Mitch confirms. “Sleeping better, playing better, thinking better. So, thank you.”

 

“Anytime, Marns,” Auston says all serious and shit. “And maybe next time don't wait until the bitter end to ask for help?”

 

“I guess I need to stop making assumptions about certain things,” Mitch says. As it turns out, there isn’t a moratorium on discussing game issues in the locker room—Mitch discovered this because Mo took him aside the day before the game against the Sens and apologized for giving Mitch that impression. Mitch could see Auston’s hand in this a mile away—captain-in-training-wheels—but he’d appreciated both the sentiment and the reassurance. It had been a big part of his malaise, the fact that he felt he couldn't discuss his struggles openly with his teammates.

 

“That will certainly help,” Auston says, yawning soon thereafter.

 

“And that’s our cue,” Mitch says getting up and extending a hand towards Auston, who grabs it and lets himself be pulled up.

 

“Snorkeling tomorrow,” Mitch says as he changes in a pair of shorts and gets in bed.

 

“I am sure you and Zach will have fun,” Auston snorts. “Me, I am going to lay in the sun and sleep until it’s time to eat.”

 

“If Willy doesn't come with us, he’s going to want to be entertained.”

 

“If Willy doesn't come with you, he’s got, like, five different bars and a crowd of interesting people to entertain him. I am going to tan and sleep,” Auston repeats firmly.

 

“Good luck with that,” Mitch says.

 

“Go to sleep, Mitchy,” Auston orders.

 

Mitch goes to sleep.

 

***

 

As it turns out, Willy loves snorkeling, so Mitch spends another wonderful day in Zach and Willy’s company, while Auston lazes on a lawn chair near the pool. The fish are, indeed, amazing, and Zach, because he’s Zach, is an excellent guide when their instructor doesn't have the correct answer to Willy’s unending questions.

 

After lunch, Mitch takes a long nap, this time in the room, since it’s too hot and he’s really not a desert boy like Auston is. By the time he gets up, Auston is back to the suite as well, and Mitch can see Zach and Willy on the porch, seemingly debating their dinner options.

 

“Good nap?” Auston asks him, looking up from his phone.

 

“Mmm,” Mitch says. “Good sunbathing?”

 

“Perfect,” Auston answers. “Hey,” he adds, “do you want to take a walk before dinner?”

 

Mitch looks outside and notices the sun is still up, but the shadows are long.

 

“What time are we going?”

 

“I think around 8. I figured we could get ready and explore a bit before joining the dynamic duo,” Auston says, gesturing at Zach and Willy, deep in conversation, their heads bent together on one of their phones.

 

“What are they doing?”

 

“Texting Carrick for suggestions about where to go to dinner. They sent him a link to the resort and its restaurants,” Auston says.

 

“Are they incapable of picking something themselves?” Mitch asks.

 

“It was becoming an issue of national security,” Auston explains. “Calling in Connor was the compromise.”

 

“I see what you mean about the foreplay,” Mitch says, because he’s starting to wonder.

 

Auston snorts, then says, “So you’re good with a walk?”

 

“Sure. I shower, you shower and then we go?”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” Auston smiles getting up. “I’ll brave the wolves and see what they’ve come up with so we know where to meet them.”

 

Mitch nods and goes to get ready. He’s under the shower when it occurs to him that this sounds a lot like a date. That gives him plenty of time to freak out, unfortunately.

 

Once he’s done with getting ready—choosing to wear something casual, because Auston never gave him the impression he was interested in him that way, though hope springs eternal—Mitch joins Willy on the balcony. He’s still in shorts and a t-shirt, skimming through Zach’s book.

 

“Anything interesting?” Mitch asks, sitting near him while he waits for Auston to get ready.

 

“It’s a biography of Benjamin Franklin,” Willy explains. “I suppose some parts must be sort of fun.”

 

“Have you read them?” Mitch says.

 

“Nah,” Willy wrinkles his nose. “Zach is going to let me know if I need to know something about it.”

 

“So, what’s up with you guys and the debate team?” Mitch asks, because he gets that’s a way for Willy—and Zach, actually—to let off steam, but they get really intense.

 

Willy squints his eyes at Mitch, like all of a sudden he can’t see him well.

 

“Zach claims he got top honors in his rhetoric classes; like, he was the best at crafting well-thought out arguments,” Willy says.

 

“And you decided to prove him wrong?” Mitch laughs.

 

Willy’s cheeks go red, but he doesn't deny it. “I have a lot of siblings, and I always get my way. So, yes, I decided to prove him wrong!”

 

“Doesn't Hymie have, like, twenty brothers?” Mitch asks, because even he can see the flaws in Willy’s logic.

 

“Something like that,” Willy admits, disconsolate. “I didn't really think this through, when we started it. Still, I am winning more arguments than I thought I would. Kappy’s been helping me.”

 

“You doing okay?” Mitch says after a moment of silence, because he hasn't gotten around to touching base with Willy, yet, but he’s wanted to, for a while.

 

Willy looks at him seriously and whatever he reads in Mitch’s face must be good enough.

 

“I am getting better,” Willy says. “Same as you, I gathered.”

 

Mitch smiles ruefully.

 

“Matts didn't say anything,” Willy hastens to reassure Mitch. “But it’s hard to miss how you’ve been in the past week or so compared to, like, a month ago.”

 

“Let’s say this season has sucked balls,” Mitch sighs.

 

“No shit,” Willy agrees. “I’m just grateful we don't all suck collectively at the same time.”

 

“Silver lining, right?” Mitch comments.

 

“Well,” Willy adds, “you certainly look more relaxed.”

 

“It’s hard not to, in a place like this,” Mitch remarks, looking at the beach before them.

 

“Yeah,” Willy smiles. “Don't tell Hymie, but this was a great idea. I am glad we all decided to come.”

 

“Auston said Hymie’s been helping you work through some stuff?” Mitch says. He doesn't want to pry, really, but if talking can help Willy—and Zach, and Auston, and Mo, and everyone else—then Mitch wants in.

 

“As much as he can,” Willy confirms. “We’ve known each other for a while. He knows my moods and he handles them pretty well. Better than Kappy, who throws things at me if I get too whiney.”

 

Mitch nods, but doesn't say anything.

 

“You’re worried about production,” Willy says shrewdly.

 

“Less now, but yes,” Mitch responds. “Mostly, I’ve been worried about being sent down.”

 

Willy’s eyes widen in surprise, and Mitch is, quite frankly, flattered about that.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Willy says vehemently. “I mean, I get where you’re coming from, but you’re too good for the Marlies. Sure, being on the fourth line sucks, and sometimes nobody knows what’s going on in Babs’ head. But he’s no fool. He’s not going to mess up with a good thing.”

 

“Auston says something similar,” Mitch admits. “It’s just …”

 

“It’s different for him,” Willy says, giving voice to Mitch’s thoughts. “Yeah, I know. He knows, too, that he’s never going to have to deal with that, barring extreme circumstances. Still, it’s nice to have his unconditional support.”

 

“He’s a good friend,” Mitch smiles softly, because he’s a fucking sap.

 

“And I sure as hell hope you’re working on changing that really fast,” Willy says sternly, shocking Mitch.

 

“What do you mean?” Mitch asks, eyebrows raised and mouth slack.

 

“Let’s just say that Auston didn't move in with me to keep me company when I had my own things to work through,” Willy says cryptic-like.

 

“I …” Mitch says, genuinely speechless.

 

“Just talk to him, will you?” Willy insists.

 

“I have been talking to him,” Mitch sputters.

 

“Good,” Willy approves with a smile. “Talk more. Figure it out.”

 

“Figure what out?” Zach asks coming back from the suite showered and ready for dinner. He’s wearing a white bottom down shirt and a pair of khakis shorts—not very different from Mitch’s outfit.

 

“What drink to try tonight,” Willy lies smoothly. “I am all for Mitch dipping his toes in the marvels of tequilas, but he’s being a spoilsport.”

 

“Tequila is dangerous,” Mitch defends himself, while also using Willy’s well timed assist. “You all saw what it does to me at last year’s New Year’s Party.”

 

“That was tequila and vodka combined, and you shouldn't have listened to Leo,” Auston reminds them all, joining them as well. He, too, is wearing a bottom down and shorts, and he looks like he color-coordinated with Mitch, because they’re both dressed in blue.

 

“Well, tonight he’s gonna listen to me,” Willy says. “I am going to get ready.”

 

“Which means we’ll meet you at the restaurant in an hour,” Zach announces with a smirk.

 

“Make it 90 minutes. I still haven’t quite gotten a handle on the new mousse I bought,” Willy says leaving them on the porch.

 

“Is he joking?” Mitch asks.

 

“About the mousse?” Zach responds. “No, but I am going to make sure we’re at the restaurant in an hour. If he wants to go bar-crawling, we should get a head-start.”

 

“Just text us when you’re on the way,” Auston says—clearly they’ve all decided not to care about international charges—“we’re not going to be too far away.”

 

Zach nods, grabs his book and sits down in the shade. Mitch and Auston leave him to it, and make their way towards a promenade that allows visitor to walk near the beach without having to be on the sand. There are more people around today than yesterday, because, as predicted, the weekend has brought a new influx of tourists. Still, it’s relatively quiet, and nobody’s been mobbing them.

 

The sun is about to set, and the horizon is an explosion of pinks, oranges and yellows, as pretty as the night’s colors had been.

 

Auston is walking slowly, setting the pace for both of them, and Mitch keeps up easily, for all that he’s missing some inches. They don't talk, but that isn’t an issue for Mitch, since Auston’s silences are probably among the most restful thing Mitch’s ever experienced.

 

They pass by a group of guys playing beach volleyball and some elderly couples walking along the shore, their feet in the water. Mitch smiles at the generational contrast.

 

“There was something I meant to ask,” Auston says, breaking the silence.

 

“Sure,” Mitch agrees turning towards him, the smile still on his face.

 

“You didn't seem faze about the Willy and Zach’s foreplay thing,” Auston begins.

 

“You told me that’s not what you meant,” Mitch replies puzzled.

 

“No, I know,” Auston says. “But you didn't look bothered about the possibility they might, you know, be together. Even if they aren’t.”

 

“Why should I be?” Mitch asks.

 

“You shouldn't,” Auston is quick to answer. “It’s just… You never know,” Auston exhales heavily.

 

“Mmm,” Mitch says. “I guess you’ve got a point there, but, like, I hope I never came across as homophobic.”

 

“No, no,” Auston replies. “You didn't. Actually, the team is very good overall about that, but you hear what other players and the fans toss around.”

 

“Yeah,” Mitch acknowledges, “they can be pretty awful, not to mention inventive.”

 

Mitch’s a white Canadian boy, but the digs at his size would make advocates for people with disabilities cringe.

 

“Tell me about it,” Auston huffs.

 

“It’s still happening?” Mitch asks, surprised, referring to the fact that, last year, at least, a couple of players on Pacific Division teams had made some derogatory comments about Matty’s Mexican ancestry. Mitch had been shocked and furious. Coach had taken Auston to his office and talked to him about it for, like, two hours. Marty and Leo had made it their business to take care of it, or rather, the offending players—their unique brand of love.

 

“No, actually,” Auston smiles. “Not yet, at least. But the homophobic and misogynistic slurs never go away.”

 

“True,” Mitch says. Those are always a favorite on ice and on the bench.

 

Mitch used them when he was in Juniors, he remembers ashamed. But he’s not a kid anymore—he’s not _that_ kid anymore—and he wants to represent his team with honor and integrity. Plus, there is the whole ‘Oops, looks like I am bi’ thing he’s discovered since he met Auston. So.

 

“So you’d be fine if Zach and Willy dated each other?” Auston asks.

 

“I thought you said they’re not like that,” Mitch says, really confused.

 

“They’re not. I am talking hypothetically,” Auston rolls his eyes.

 

“Don’t do that,” Mitch says, hitting Auston on the shoulder.

 

“You do it all the time,” Auston hits back, though it’s more of a pat, because he knows he could knock Mitch off. For all that Mitch’s not actually small, Auston has forty pounds on him, and they’re all muscle.

 

“Anyways,” Mitch says, “yes, I’d be fine if Willy and Hymie told us they’re passionately in love with each other. Not that’s any of my business. They’d be cute though. I mean, Kappy and Willy would be cuter together, what with the whole Nordic vibe, but Zach and Willy offer a nice study in contrasts,” he adds, thinking about it.

 

“Are you considering the fucking aesthetics of it?” Auston asks dumbfounded.

 

“Don’t front it, Matthews,” Mitch says. “I am not the one who uses the black-and-white filter all the time.”

 

“Whatever,” Auston dismisses him, which, rude, since he knows Mitch is right.

 

“To be fair, Willy would probably nicely complement anyone he is dating,” Mitch adds, just because.

 

“There is that,” Auston grins.

 

“Why all the questions, though, Matty?” Mitch says. They have been talking a lot, and the locker room is a petri dish of hook-up and relationship conversations, but, funnily enough, him and Matty haven’t discussed this of late.

 

“I wanted to ask you something, and I wanted to get this out of the way first,” Auston explains.

 

“Me not being homophobic?” Mitch asks, furrowing his forehead.

 

“No,” Auston says patiently, stopping and turning towards Mitch. “You and your views about teammates dating each other.”

 

Mitch stops as well and looks up at Matty, who’s actually looking at the sea. They’re nearby a gazebo, and only a few people are around, what with the sun having just set and dinner being served all around the resort.

 

“I mean, I don't care, as long as people are happy,” Mitch clarifies, in case Auston hasn't understood Mitch is completely on board with the idea. Indeed, he’d like to be a trailblazer on the Leafs about this, though he’s not going to tell Auston that.

 

“Alright,” Auston says, squaring his shoulders and looking at Mitch. “I thought you might be, but I wanted to be sure.”

 

“Okay, well, now you are,” Mitch smiles.

 

“So, will you go on a date with me?” Auston asks.

 

Mitch feels himself go hot all over and he can tell he blushes so hard he probably looks like he got a heatstroke.

 

“Wait, what?” he babbles.

 

“Will you go on a date with me?” Auston repeats, serious and sure, his eyes not leaving Mitch’s face.

 

“Really?” Mitch asks, because he’s a fucking moron, and doesn't seem able to simply say yes.

 

Auston looks at him like he’s speaking in tongues. Mitch doesn't blame him. He feels like his comprehension of English is suddenly gone.

 

“Of course, really,” Auston repeats, this time a little more tentative, like he’s afraid Mitch is going to say no.

 

“Yes, yes,” Mitch hastens to rectify whatever misunderstanding there might be that he’s unwilling to go on a date with Auston. “I would love to go on a date with you.” It sounds so cheesy that Mitch blushes again, even harder, if it’s possible.

 

Auston rewards him with his blinding smile. Mitch can’t do anything but return it with one of his own.

 

“I thought you might, but I wasn't sure,” Auston confesses, taking Mitch’s hand and interlacing his fingers with Mitch’s.

 

“You’re one step head of me, then,” Mitch says, wrinkling his nose. “I had no clue.”

 

“I am stealthy like that,” Auston says, pulling Mitch towards him. Mitch lays his head on Auston’s shoulder, something he’s been doing a lot recently. It’s becoming one of his favorite places to be.

 

Auston drops a kiss on Mitch’s head and Mitch’s heart melts in a puddle at his feet. Of course Auston Matthews is a fucking pro at this shit, because he needs to be a pro at everything.

 

Mitch raises his head to look at him.

 

“Since when?” he asks. It seems important, even if, in the larger scheme of things, it isn’t.

 

“I am not sure,” Auston admits with a sheepish smile. “I liked you immediately. Dvo and Chucky had only good things to say about you, so I was prepared to like you even before camp last year. But the rest, that was gradual. Like, one day we were friends, and the next I realized we could be so much more.”

 

Mitch nods, because he understands where Auston is coming from. It’s the whole ‘falling in love with your best friend’ thing Mitch’s been thinking about for months, now.

 

“I’ve been wanting to ask you out since we got back this season,” Auston continues, still holding Mitch’s hand. “But things didn't go as well as I planned.”

 

Mitch snorts. “Understatement of the year,” he says.

 

“Yeah, ” Auston smiles. “But you’ve been better since I’ve been around so …”

 

“You make things better,” Mitch confesses. “Always have. I didn't realize how much until last week, but I knew beforehand.”

 

“That’s when I realized I might have a shot,” Auston says. “Like, I knew you liked me, but I wasn't sure how much until this past week. Then you let me in your life without too much of a fuss, and you let me take care of you, and suddenly you were smiling more, and sleeping better. I couldn't help but hope it might be because you felt like I did.”

 

“I do,” Mitch confirms. “I mean, I don't know exactly what you feel,” Mitch adds a tad embarrassed, _again_ , “but I do feel a lot. For you.”

 

“Oh, Mitch,” Auston says, cupping Mitch’s face in his hands. Mitch drops his own around Auston’s waist.

 

“What?” Mitch smiles happily at Auston.

 

Auston doesn't say anything, just kisses him. It’s not super passionate, because they’re in public, even if it’s dark, but it’s a pretty good first kiss.

 

When Auston draws back, Mitch goes tippy-toe to drop a kiss on his chin.

 

Auston blushes charmingly, and skims one of his hands down Mitch’s back, so that they’re flushed against each other.

 

“What were you thinking for our first date?” Mitch asks, nuzzling Auston’s neck.

 

“Maybe we can ditch Zach and Willy tomorrow night and do something by ourselves?” Auston suggests.

 

“That’s fine with me. But do you want to tell them?” Mitch would rather that they’re on the same page immediately. He knows it’s not going to be easy, but he doesn't want to hide this.

 

“I wasn't planning on keeping this a secret, at least from the people who know us, if that’s what you’re asking,” Auston says.

 

“Good,” Mitch nods. “I don't want to do that either,” he clarifies.

 

“Willy knows anyway,” Auston adds. “And I wouldn't put it past Zach to suspect it.”

 

“I figured,” Mitch says. “Willy says something earlier that suggested that.”

 

“I am going to kill him,” Auston says, shaking his head.

 

“Don't,” Mitch smiles again, squeezing Auston’s mid-section playfully. “It was cute. He clearly figured me out, too. I think he was trying to be helpful and encouraging.”

 

Auston passes an arm around Mitch’s shoulders, and Mitch snuggles into him as they resume walking.

 

“So you’re bi?” Mitch asks, since now he wants to know everything about Auston, especially the things he didn't think he could ask about.

 

“Yeah,” Auston says. “Though I haven’t done a ton.”

 

“You’re gonna be more experienced than me, anyways,” Mitch comments. “I have done nothing.”

 

“But you’re bi, also?” Auston asks.

 

“I guess,” Mitch shrugs, which is sort of hard with Auston all around him. “I never liked a guy before, so …”

 

“Oh,” Auston says. He suddenly looks inordinately pleased with himself.

 

Mitch does roll his eyes, very visibly, because Auston is an ass.

 

“Don't let that go to your head, there, mister,” Mitch says.

 

“I will try not to,” Auston says. “But I thought fooling around was a rite of passage in Juniors.”

 

“Who did you talk to?” Mitch asks. “Actually, forget that, I don't wanna know. It happened, for sure, but I never looked at another guy before I met you.”

 

“Does anyone know? About you, I mean,” Auston asks, all soft and tentative, because he knows Mitch so well.

 

“No,” Mitch admits. “I didn't tell anyone.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I think it was all tangled up with the season, so I didn't want to talk about it,” Mitch tries to explain. “Plus, I didn't know who to tell. I mean, normally it would be you, but, well …”

 

“You need to get these things off your chest, Mitch,” Auston rebukes him gently. “What was it that you told me about the noise in your head? I think if you talked more, it’d help with that.”

 

“Probably,” Mitch says. “I’ll try. But what I feel for you, that wasn't an issue, Matty. It was just something else I was thinking about among the other stuff, so I really didn't need to discuss it or analyze it, you know. My feelings for you, they just are.”

 

“Mitch,” Auston says, stopping and hugging Mitch tight again.

 

“What?” Mitch mumbles into Auston’s chest.

 

“You’re so …” Auston relaxes his grip and shakes his head, like he doesn't know what to make of Mitch.

 

“I am so what?” Mitch looks up, rubbing his nose against Auston’s.

 

“Loved. You’re so loved,” Auston says, taking Mitch’s breath away.

 

Mitch’s eyes fill with tears, happy tears, and Auston gets that immediately because he smiles.

 

“You, too,” Mitch replies. “So much, Auston. So much.”

 

Auston kisses him again, and this time it _is_ a passionate kiss, and Mitch lets himself be enveloped by Auston.

 

They kiss for a long time in the darkness of the tropic night, the sound of the waves in the background, and the chatter of people in the distance. It’s so lovely, Mitch thinks. He didn't think it could be so lovely.

 

They’re distracted by Auston’s phone chiming with a text notification.

 

“That’ll be Zach,” Auston says with an apologetic smile, before fishing his phone out of his pocket.

 

“They’re at the pseudo-Mediterranean place,” Auston reads. “They’ve already ordered appetizers and drinks, so we better get going before we find ourselves forced to eat whatever passes for Willy’s preferences these days.”

 

“Let’s go, then,” Mitch says, grabbing Auston’s hand and walking towards the resort.

 

“Do you know where the restaurant is?” Auston asks, pocketing his phone.

 

“Yeah, we passed it earlier today, when we came back from snorkeling,” Mitch answers.

 

“Then lead the way,” Auston says squeezing Mitch’s hand.

 

They walk sedately and hold hands until they get to the restaurant, when they have to separate because there is a bit of a crowd. They find Willy and Hymie seated outside with beer and some food before them.

 

“You made it,” Zach says happily, taking a sip of his beer.

 

“So did you,” Auston replies, nodding at Willy.

 

“75 minutes,” Willy waggles his eyebrows, passing a hand through his admittedly impressive locks. “We compromised.”

 

Mitch sits down next to Auston and grabs one of the unopened beers.

 

“A toast,” he proposes, raising his bottle. Everyone follows suit.

 

“To good friends, great vacation ideas, and smart compromises.”

 

“Hear, hear,” Zach cheers.

 

It’s an awesome evening.

 

***

 

Mitch wakes up on Saturday morning with Auston Matthews lying across his chest. It’s bright outside, and a glance at the bedside clock tells Mitch it’s past ten.

 

The bar crawl was a success, at least according to Willy, who got to taste every drink under the sun and got flirted with by men and women alike under Auston and Zach’s amused looks. Mitch limited himself to a couple of drinks and stuck to Auston like glue.

 

They had made it back to their suite early in the morning and Mitch had changed before collapsing on the bed, physically and emotionally exhausted. Auston had done the same, and they’d fallen asleep like that.

 

Auston is snoring softly near Mitch’s neck, and there is a bit of a drool, which Mitch has a hard time finding endearing. He’ll deal, he guesses.

 

Because he doesn't want to disturb Auston until he absolutely has to, Mitch moves just enough to grab his phone from the bed stand. There are a couple of texts from Zach, informing him that he went kayaking and that Willy is still asleep—not surprising, considering the amount of alcohol he ingested.

 

Mitch spends some times looking at his phone and sends out a couple of texts to his brother, Stromer and Marty, just to let them know that things are good and they’re all still alive—Marty is particularly invested in the last part, he’s probably going to pass the message along to Mo and Gards, and possibly even Babs. Mitch also sends a couple of pictures he took yesterday of the fish he saw to Patty so he can show then to his kids.

 

“What are you doing?” Auston mumbles in Mitch’s shirt, wetting it even more.

 

“You’re remarkably gross, you know that?” Mitch says, hopelessly fond.

 

“I’m a hockey player,” Auston replies. “If you were expecting princely manners, you’re SOL.”

 

“Marty is suitably relieved we’re all still alive, and Stromer is just plain jealous,” Mitch says, catching Auston up with the latest gossip. “Oh, and Zach is out, but Willy is here.”

 

“Mmm,” Auston says, snuggling into Mitch, which, really, it’s cute as fuck, but Auston weighs almost 220 pounds and Mitch needs to breathe.

 

“Are you going back to sleep?” Mitch asks.

 

“I wasn't planning to,” Auston answers, finally raising his face to look at Mitch and scrubbing his face with his hand.

 

It’s not the first time Mitch’s seen him with the ‘I just woke up’ look, and it was never attractive, but something stirs in Mitch’s stomach at seeing Auston all vulnerable and soft.

 

Mitch drops the phone and turns on his side so he can look at Auston, who’s lying on his back.

 

“Hi,” he says softly.

 

Auston turns and smiles, “Hi.”

 

“What do you wanna do?” Mitch says. He’s vibrating with energy now that Auston’s up.

 

“Kissing is on the top of my list, right now,” Auston says.

 

Mitch lightens up—he was trying to be sort of respectful, because morning breath can be yucky, but if Auston doesn't mind, neither does Mitch.

 

It’s a soft kiss, which Auston deepens in zero-time flat. Mitch lets himself be lost in it, trusting Auston to show his what he needs to know in this journey they’re undertaking together.

 

Later, after they’ve showered and gotten some breakfast, Mitch and Auston are laying by the pool. Auston is happily sunbathing while Mitch is sort of napping in the shade, because he doesn't want to go lobster-colored right in the middle of their vacation.

 

Zach came by on his way back from kayaking, all flushed and satisfied, and then left to go and get Willy out of bed. They’re waiting on the two of them so they can get some food, because apparently today is a lazy day—unless one is Zach Hyman or one counts sex as a strenuous activity.

 

“We’re still on for our date tonight, right?” Mitch asks sleepily.

 

“Of course,” Auston replies, looking at him over his sunglasses. “Why?”

 

“Because we need to tell Willy and Zach, and we didn't manage to do that last night,” Mitch explains.

 

“We can do that at lunch,” Auston says easily. It’s going to be sort of a late lunch, what with everyone but Zach getting up late and what not.

 

“I wanted to put forward a new debate topic,” Mitch pouts, because the list on his phone is long and varied and he hasn't really started on it, yet.

 

“I really disapprove of this fascination you suddenly developed with them arguing,” Auston shakes his head.

 

“But you’re going to let me go ahead and enjoy it nevertheless,” Mitch says with a toothily smile.

 

Auston sighs and says nothing, but Mitch knows he’s won. Maybe, however, he’ll wait until tomorrow to toss Zach and Willy in the middle of the great ‘CoD or GTA’ debate.

 

Today’s Mexican food, which is actually pretty good—the food at his place is overall pretty awesome, in Mitch’s opinion, though he doesn't admittedly have the highest standards.

 

At the table after they’ve loaded up at the all-you-can-eat-buffet, Auston clears his throat and goes a slight shade of pink, which is more difficult to see now he has a bit of a tan.

 

Willy raises his eyebrows and looks at him, because, clearly, he knows Auston well.

 

“So,” Auston begins, “Mitch and I are gonna do our thing tonight.”

 

“And we can’t tag along?” Willy asks, chewing obnoxiously.

 

“Nope,” Mitch says. He doesn't want Auston to have to do this by himself.

 

“Why?” Willy asks. And really, the clueless act is charming, but Willy is not stupid. He was the one who told Mitch to get things sorted.

 

“Willy,” Zach hisses.

 

“What?” Willy says. “I’m just asking,” he adds, all innocent and cute like the puppy they all think Mitch is.

 

“Because we’re going on a date, and you’d be third-wheeling,” Auston explains, staring at Willy with eyes like flint, daring him to say something even remotely wrong.

 

“Wait, seriously?” Zach asks, a huge smile on his face. Willy is doing a lovely impression of a goldfish. It’s so good Mitch is glad he has the presence of mind to take a picture. For posterity.

 

“Yep,” Mitch confirms.

 

“This is great,” Zach says, high-fiving Mitch first, because he’s closer, and then Auston.

 

Willy is still staring at Auston, who’s staring back.

 

“Willy,” Zach says, warningly. That seems to shake Willy off his trance, because he starts laughing like a lunatic.

 

Auston sighs, slumping in his chair, while Mitch looks at him puzzled.

 

“You’re such an ass,” Auston says, resigned, like he knew this was coming, but was hoping against hope it wouldn't.

 

“I know,” Willy hiccups. “But this is awesome. I am so happy for you guys, but you’re such clichés.”

 

“Willy,” Zach hisses again, but Willy waves him away dismissively.

 

“Come, Zachy, they are. They get their act together at a romantic trip at the Bahamas during bye-week after pining away for, like, a year. You can’t write this shit.”

 

“It didn't start out as a romantic trip,” Mitch points out.

 

“That’s because you’re both morons, and Zach had to come in and save the day,” Willy says.

 

“Joining Zach was our idea,” Mitch replies offended.

 

“And we didn't pine for a year,” Auston mutters.

 

“Fine,” Willy says, “more like six months. Still. You’re a cliché.”

 

“Way to be supportive, Nylander,” Zach comments, though there is a small smile on his face, betraying his amusement at his teammates’ antics—all of them.

 

“Oh, I am super-supportive,” Willy assures everyone at the table. “Zach and I are going to figure out what’s the best place for you guys to go on a date here.”

 

“We are?” Zach asks, though he doesn't look put off at the idea of helping out.

 

“No, you aren’t,” Auston says sternly. “I already know what we’re doing, so we don't need your help.”

 

Mitch looks at Auston and he knows there are stars in his eyes, because Auston, at some point today, thought about where to take Mitch, and that’s just. It’s a lot.

 

“Well,” Willy says. “At least run it by us to make sure it’s romantic and not, you know, the Auston Matthews version of romantic.”

 

“There are only two people in this relationship,” Auston explains, enunciating the words for Willy—and, by the way, neither of them mentioned the R word, but Mitch doesn't have a problem with that. Nope. Not one single problem at all.

 

“That’s what you think,” Willy says. “What you’ll realize soon enough is the there’s going to be about 20-something people in your _relationship._ ”

 

“You’re not outing them to the team, Willy,” Zach stops him, deadly serious.

 

“Of course not,” Willy responds. “But look at them. They glow with happiness.”

 

“It’s the sun, Willy,” Mitch says.

 

“Nonsense. It’s the magic of young requited love,” Willy counters. “You guys ooze it. If I weren’t so hangover I would have spotted it a mile away. Soon enough, birds will start chirping when you go by and flowers will sprout where you walk. The guys are gonna figure it out in no time.”

 

“They’re hockey players,” Auston says.

 

“So?”

 

“They’re straight hockey players,” Mitch adds helpfully.

 

“Oh,” Willy says, like that thought hadn’t crossed his mind. “Nah,” he says after a second. “They’ll see it immediately, and then I can tell them the epic tale of the very important role I played in the whole thing.”

 

“You played, like, no role whatsoever,” Auston says hiding his face in his hands, like he’s ashamed to be friends with Willy.

 

“Can you do something about him?” Mitch asks Zach, because desperate times call for desperate measures.

 

“Me?” Zach asks surprised. “When he’s like this it’s just better to let him run his course.”

 

“I am not a disease,” Willy reminds them all.

 

“Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference, to be honest,” Auston says.

 

“Fine,” Willy says. “Gang up against me. In the meantime, Matty, let’s take a walk, so you can tell me what you’re thinking and we can check the thing out before you subject Mitchy to it.”

 

“We’re still eating, Willy,” Zach reminds him.

 

“We can do both,” Willy says, and gets up and grabs a basket of nachos for the road. Auston looks at Mitch, like Mitch has the instruction manual for Willy Nylander.

 

“Just go with him,” Mitch tells Auston. “Zach and I can finish eating and, I don't know, gossip about Canada.”

 

Zach snorts and shoves Willy when he passes him by. Willy flips him off, and drags Auston out of the restaurant, gesticulating wildly, clearly having tons of ideas about dates.

 

“Gossip about Canada?” Zach looks at Mitch.

 

“Whatever, dude,” Mitch says. “Willy wants to help. Let him help.”

 

“It’s your date,” Zach says. “And by the way, congrats. This is really fantastic. I am super happy for you guys.”

 

Mitch blushes, but smiles, delighted at seeing Zach so excited for them.

 

“It just happened, but it’s great.”

 

“And don't worry about the team. If they figure it out, they’re going to be supportive. You know Mo and the other As don't tolerate any kind of discrimination in the locker room.”

 

“Yeah,” Mitch nods. “We don't plan to keep it a secret, otherwise we wouldn't have told you.”

 

“Who else knows?” Zach asks, before taking a bit of what is left of his food.

 

“Only you and Willy. As I said, it just happened.”

 

“Wow,” Zach seems surprised. “That’s cool. Thanks for the trust, though.”

 

Mitch nods again.

 

“You didn't talk about this with your friends?”

 

Everyone on the Leafs knows Mitch has lots of good friends on pretty much every NHL team, though Dylan, Davo, and Dvo top the list. Not to mention, the non-hockey friends Mitch also has.

 

“Nah,” Mitch says. “First I was trying to figure things out, then the season started and it was a shit-show, so I didn't get around mentioning to anyone. Plus, it wasn't, like, a problem, you know?”

 

“What do you mean?” Zach asks.

 

“Loving Auston. That was surprising and weird, and sometimes I was sad because I didn't this I had a chance, but it wasn't something I felt the need to vent about.”

 

“Got it,” Zach says, showing no reaction at Mitch’s use of the L word.

 

“So,” Mitch says, deciding this is enough heart-to-heart for now, “I have a list of potential debate topics for you and Willy, but Auston doesn't want me to share it with you guys because you’re insane enough as it is.”

 

Zach looks at him incredulous before cracking up.

 

“No, no, show me,” he says. “It’s always good to have ideas to keep him entertained.”

 

“Auston says it’s some sort of therapy,” Mitch confesses.

 

“I guess you can look at it that way,” Zach acknowledges. “It’s a good way for us to let off steam and we have some fun. So, what do you got?”

 

Zach and Mitch chat happily about what to toss at Willy next, but by the time Willy and Auston come back to get them, they’ve moved on to cool books Zach read that Mitch should totally get to. And granted, Mitch isn’t the best of readers, but some of the suggestions Zach made sound quite interesting, so he might just give it a go.

 

Apparently, Auston’s date idea got the ‘Nylander Seal of Approval’, because Willy looks very satisfied and drags Zach away to explain him all the details.

 

“You good?” Mitch asks Auston, hugging him close.

 

“Yeah,” Auston smiles. “Willy wanted to both give me the shovel talk, and tell me we have his total support. He also has a ton of ideas for romantic dates for when we’re back in Toronto.”

 

“Right,” Mitch laughs, “because I haven’t lived in the area all my life.”

 

“That’s why Willy was full of suggestions. He doesn't want you to do the heavy lifting.”

 

“That is very considerate of him,” Mitch observes.

 

“He’s a good friend,” Auston points out.

 

“They all are,” Mitch remarks, and it suddenly strikes him, the truthfulness of his statement. They have teammates who are good friends. They’re all going to be okay with him and Auston dating, and they’re going to help as much as they can in whatever capacity Mitch and Auston need.

 

“It’s going to be spectacular,” Mitch says elated.

 

“What is?” Auston asks, as they start walking towards to beach to rest a bit more before their date.

 

“Us dating. Playing together. Being out to our friends, to our families.”

 

Auston’s eyes, not yet covered by his sunglasses, soften and he leans in to drop a kiss on Mitch’s nose.

 

“Yes, it is,” he agrees.

 

And Mitch knows that there are things he needs to work on—he needs to re-learn how to sleep in a bed by himself, he needs to be better at tuning out his inner critic, and he needs to talk to his friends more.

 

But there is something to be said about falling in love with your best friend, and it’s even better when your best friend loves you back. All things considered, Mitch thinks he’s got this. They’ve got this.

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of sleeplessness, self-doubt and a hint of depression.


End file.
